


A Long Drive

by SoMuchDepends



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating is wrong, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I promise, Little bit of angst, Slowest Burn, but I'll make an exception here, but it's happening here, is this premise implausible, modern setting but characters are not OOC, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoMuchDepends/pseuds/SoMuchDepends
Summary: With inconvenient car troubles and 24 hours until Diana Barry's rehearsal dinner, Anne finds herself stranded at Redmond. But there's another member of the wedding party that just might be able to help her out on the long drive to Avonlea. How could this go wrong? Actually, there's a lot of ways. Modern.





	1. Chapter 1

"Oh, Phil," Anne whined, her voice muffled by the couch cushion she'd face planted in. "I can't believe my car would pick this week—of all weeks— for its transmission to die!"

"Anne, honeypie, it's really going to be okay," Phil soothed, rubbing Anne's back.

The two women occupied the plaid, navy couch in Patty's Place's sitting room, and their quiet conversation was scored by the sound of strong, spring winds whistling outside.

It was the Wednesday before Diana Barry's weekend wedding, and Anne's usually trusty compact car unexpectedly kicked the bucket.

And Anne was in quite the bind.

"I needed to be down there by tomorrow evening," Anne said, pulling herself up. "The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night, and I can't drive myself down there, unless some kind of overnight mechanical miracle occurs!"

"Well, couldn't Marilla or someone drive up and pick you up?" Phil offered.

Anne paused and bit her lip.

"I really don't feel comfortable with Marilla driving such long distances anymore," Anne said finally. "You know how her eyesight has been dulling recently, and I couldn't impose on Mrs. Lynde or Di because they're so busy with all the last minute details."

The wind howled louder and the lamps flickered with an incoming storm.

"Well, what about a bus? Surely, one has to be headed out tomorrow morning," Phil said, getting up and stoking the fire.

"Well, I'm sort of strapped for cash right now," Anne said, her eyes cast downward. "You know how expensive bridesmaid dresses are, and Di had me get a little bit of a nicer— and more expensive— one as the maid of honor."

"Oh, well, I'd offer to drive you down," Phil began.

"No, no, you have that lunch with Jo's parents tomorrow," Anne interrupted sweetly but firmly. "And I could never ask you to do that anyway."

Phil put the poker back in its place and plopped in a striped armchair across from Anne.

"Well, who's headed from Redmond to Avonlea for the wedding?"

"That's the thing! No one's leaving until Friday," Anne explained. "But because I'm in the wedding party, I need to be there by tomorrow."

Rain began to patter on the warped glass windows, and the conversation lulled for one moment as a realization struck both women.

And while one woman would've happily let the thought slip by, the other voiced it as quickly as she could.

"Well, you know, Gilbert Blythe is Fred's best man," Phil smirked, a mischievous spark in her eye. "And I bet he would love to carpool."


	2. Chapter 2

"This is a very bad idea," said Anne. "A very bad idea."

Anne Shirley stood in front of an old apartment building just a few blocks from Patty's Place. Rain pattered softly on the yellow, striped umbrella above her head, and she anxiously checked her watch.

10:34 p.m.

"How did I let Phil talk me into this?" Anne murmured.

It had been quite a while since she had been to this particular complex on this particular street, but she still knew exactly which window was his.

Third from the right in the middle.

Which, coincidentally, was the only window with light still pouring out of it.

A bell chimed.

_"Did you ask him yet?"—Phil at 10:35_

Anne rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Give me a sec," she typed back.

Slipping her phone back into her raincoat's pocket, Anne steeled herself and then approached the front door.

She took a deep breath and buzzed for his apartment number.

Another chime.

_"Do it, loser, before you lose your nerve."—Phil at 10:39_

Anne huffed and silenced her phone.

"Hello?"

A muffled voice sounded through the intercom.

"Oh, hey, um…." Anne began, startled.

"Who is it?" The voice overlapped with hers.

"Oh, yes, this is Anne. I just wanted… Anne Shirley," Anne said, the words choking in her throat. "I just wanted to ask you… Well, I need your help…."

Quite a long pause lingered as Anne's last word died on her lips.

"Who am I to be crawling to Gil's apartment to ask for his help," Anne thought ruefully, the silence making her doubt and overthink.

"But uh, you know maybe this was a bad idea. I'm so sorry, Gil," Anne stuttered, stepping back from the intercom and opening her dripping umbrella again.

As she stepped out from under the awning back into the storm, the intercom's static broke through again.

"Um, yeah," Gil's gentle voice rang out. "Come on up."

The door unlocked, and Anne rushed to open it and get inside.

"Okay," Anne whispered, sheathing her umbrella in the rack. "This is okay. Everything's okay."

She felt a vibration and annoyedly pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"Shut up, Phil," Anne said, then almost dropped her phone when she read the screen.

_"What are you doing, darling?"—Roy at 10:44_

Anne's heart raced uncommonly fast as she slipped the phone—with the text unanswered—back into her pocket and reached the elevator.

"I won't worry about that just now," Anne thought, ignoring the twist of guilt in her stomach.

The elevator doors opened on Gil's floor, and Anne took quick and determined steps toward his door.

"Okay," said Anne, her breath shallow. "Okay, just ask him and have it over with."

Here she was. In front of Gilbert Blythe's door. And of its own volition, her hand knocked.

The door opened before her hand was back at her side.

"Hello, Anne," said a voice she could never forget.

And she took her first deep breath since 10:34 p.m.

Anne Shirley stood awkwardly before the object of much of her worries, and as the two stood squarely across from each other, the moment was nearly unbearable.

Thankfully, Gil was usually there to save the day, and today was no exception.

"So what kind of favor are we talkin'," smirked Gil, relaxing and leaning against the doorframe. "Because I would prefer nothing illegal. Gotta keep those scholarships, and felonies are not conducive towards that goal."

Quiet, but real laughter broke between the estranged friends.

"Nothing illegal, Gil," Anne said. "I promise."

"Good to know," Gil smiled, stepping back into his apartment and sweeping the door open. "You may come in."

Anne passed into the warmly-lit main room and glanced around.

Nothing had really changed since she had been her last.

The walls were the same dingy white. The floors were still carpeted in blotchy, forest green. The wooden frame still held a picture of his family.

Gil had moved to his desk, shut his computer, and leaned against the back of his chair.

"Well?"

"Oh!" Anne blushed, she had been so absorbed in observing his possessions she had forgotten her question. "Well, my car broke down yesterday. And as you know, Di's rehearsal dinner is tomorrow, and I'm kinda in a bad place."

"A bad place," Gil repeated.

"Yeah, because I can't afford a bus ticket right now," Anne hurried, her nervousness speeding her along. "And I can't ask Marilla or Mrs. Lynde to pick me up because Marilla's eyes and Mrs. Lynde's so busy. And no one else is leaving her until Friday, and I was just freaking out and then I remembered…."

"You remembered," Gil repeated again, pushing her to say it.

"I remembered that you would be leaving tomorrow, and I hoped you might let me ride with you," Anne said quickly. "I can't give you any gas money right now, but I can wire you some in a week or two. And I won't talk much or annoy you, I promise."

Gil had gotten up and stepped closer to Anne, who stood ranting in the middle of the room.

"I'm so sorry to impose on you so late at night," Anne continued, her breath shorting out. "But I didn't want to just text you out of the blue, and I knew you'd still be up. I just really need to get to Avonlea, or else I wouldn't be intruding on you, I promise—"

"Okay," Gil said, very close to Anne now.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to take a road trip with," Anne said, not comprehending his response. "But I just am so desperate, and I hope you don't mind—"

"Anne," Gil said, his hands clasping hers which she wrung in front of her. "I'd be happy to give you a ride. I wouldn't hear the end of it in Avonlea if I abandoned you here and went to Di's without you."

"Really," Anne smiled, sighing in relief.

"Of course," Gil whispered, his hands still on hers.

The room around them suddenly felt very quiet, and Anne couldn't turn away from Gil's eyes.

Until she felt a vibration in her pocket again.

And she instinctively knew it wasn't Phil asking if she had done it.

"I need to go," Anne breathed, wrenching her hands from under his. "Thank you very much! I'll see you tomorrow. Is 9 good?"

Anne had turned and was racing towards the door, but she could hear equally quick steps behind her.

"Yeah, that's great," Gil said behind her.

Anne turned at the doorway and faced Gil again.

"Goodnight, Gil," she said, giving him one last glance and then rushed out the door and down the hallway.

"Goodnight, Anne," Gil called after her.

In her rush to calm her nerves and the inkling guilt, Anne flew down two flights of stairs and out of the building.

Her umbrella forgotten in Gil's apartment lobby, she ran the few blocks back to Patty's Place and reached her home in a dripping, anxious mess.

Everyone was asleep so she didn't have to deal with Phil's interrogation, and Anne gratefully climbed the stairs to her room, all the while thinking:

"What have I gotten myself into?"


	3. Chapter 3

Anne Shirley was an thinker.

Well, more specifically, Anne Shirley was an overthinker.

And since she had returned from Gil's apartment last night, Anne had overthought every last action and word and thought and breath.

Which didn't help when Roy called her at 8:00 the next morning, and Anne stumbled through her explanation of her upcoming trip and traveling partner.

All the previous evening's thoughts threatened to combust during her slightly charged, 20-minute-long conversation with Roy, and Anne keenly felt the danger of Roy's absence from Di's wedding.

As soon as she grabbed the purely-ceremonial invitation from the mail, Anne had begged Roy to attend as her plus-one, but Roy insisted he was too nervous to meet her entire extended family in one fell swoop.

Which Anne could understand.

But still.

He should've said yes.

And now, as her mind once again replayed Gil's hushed words and gentle touches, she wished she had forced Roy to attend this wedding.

Because as her clock ticked past 8:30, Anne felt a growing, guilty anxiety.

But she crammed that feeling in the corner of her heart, and absent-mindedly threw together a weekend bag—which she hadn't prepared the night before due to pure distraction.

Anne's phone vibrated in her skirt's pocket as she frantically tossed her toothbrush into her bag.

_I realized we settled on you walking to my apartment again… well, kinda, everything was rather rushed. Makes no sense for you to walk to my place. I'll pick you up around 9—Gil at 8:41_

"Oh, well, that's relieving and not relieving all at once," Anne murmured to herself, slowing her packing pace as her heartbeat quickened.

Finally, Anne zipped her bag and pulled her garment bag out of the closet, her hands clutching her luggage to steady themselves.

As she descended the stairs, her phone buzzed again.

_I'm outside, take your time, I know I'm early—Gil 8:55_

But Anne hardly wanted to take her time.

She wanted to rush out to the car as quickly as possible, open the driver's side door, and….

But that thought was quickly extinguished.

And Anne replaced it with practical matters.

She had finished packing with five minutes to spare to brew a quick cup of coffee.

But it would be rude to make Gil wait.

Unless….

* * *

Five minutes later, Anne walked out to Gil's waiting car with two mismatched coffee mugs balanced in one hand, her garment bag in the other, and her overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

She watched as Gil sensed a movement and looked up from his phone.

His face changed from recognition to confusion to humor, and he hopped out of the car and jogged to help her.

Anne was glad her actions infused some comedy into what could've been an awkward, tense moment.

"As funny as this is for a bystander, I'm afraid I'll have to help you out," Gil laughed, grabbing the garment bag and the overnight from a thankful Anne. "Wow, is the thought of car ride with me so depressing you need two cups of coffee?"

Gil grinned and stared pointedly at the two cups of coffee Anne held.

"Oh," Anne stammered, overcoming her initial confusion. "Actually, one of these is for you. As a thank you for giving me a ride at the drop of a hat. And I even remembered: one tablespoon of honey and a splash of milk."

Gil smiled like Anne hadn't seen in many months.

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Anne," Gil said quietly but meaningfully. "Let me just put your bags in the back, and you can go ahead and get in the front."

Gil walked around the car and popped the boot, while Anne slowed her breath, and approached the passenger's side door.

"Well, it's not big deal," Anne started, sliding into her seat and heard the boot click shut. "I fully intend to pay you back entirely for gas and such in the future."

Gil's door soon opened, and Anne held out the cup.

"Well, I hope you know, I'm not expecting you to pay me back at all," Gil said, his eyes turned down on Stella's pink polka-dotted mug in his hand. "But thank you above all for coffee, Queen Anne."

"Oh hush," Anne said, chuckling at the old nickname. "Well, both need as much caffeine as possible: this is always such a terribly long drive."

"Very true, Anne," Gil agreed, as he changed the gear and the two old friends headed home together once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Rusty, historic brick blurred past Anne's window as they wove through Redmond's residential area, but Anne hardly registered anything but her coffee's heat and the thick tension in the car.

As soon as Patty's Place had dematerialized in the rear view mirror, a frigid unease grew between herself and Gil.

This was going to be even more difficult than Anne had thought.

Distant memories of their once easy back-and-forth threatened to twist her heart in two, but Anne determined to rekindle as much of their past repartee as she could.

If she could only think of something to say.

For over a year, pain and loss accumulated around her relationship with Gil, and Anne couldn't quite pin down an appropriate topic for two people who purposely forgot each other.

But this would be a dreadfully long car ride if she couldn't think of anything to say to her estranged friend and current chauffeur.

"How's the biology department treating you?" Anne asked in one breath, jumbling the words together.

Gil inclined his eyes slightly over to her but then turned to check his sideview mirror as he merged onto the interstate.

"Quite well, I suppose," he answered shortly, but openly.

"Well, I heard you were doing quite as well as you always have," Anne said, a smile in her voice. "But I wanted to hear it from the very source."

"So you've been asking about me, Shirley?" Gil replied, his mouth quirking mischievously.

And there it was: a question which—depending on her answer—could shift the entire mood in an instant.

A question she would've lightly turned away as rhetorical a year ago.

A question she could answer toxically to alienate Gil further.

A question she needed to answer before her hesitation gave him suspicions.

"Yes, but only when it's been a really slow news day," Anne responded, matching his mischief expertly.

And just like that, they fell back into place.

Like the day he had whistled past her gate.

Like the day she finally let him in.

Like the day when they had talked of everything and nothing without restraint.

But unlike that day, the reunited pair now left two particular topics largely untouched.

And though Anne felt a clawing need to know just exactly what that raven-haired beauty meant to Gil, she restrained, keeping their conversation just as it would've been in the hazy Avonlea days.

And for the first time in such a long time, Anne felt safe allowing her heart to glow and open for someone else.

Gil simply knew her, past every artifice and denial and wall, and Anne wished for something she couldn't quite understand other than just more time with the man next to her.

"So, tell me, Anne, how are you feeling about Di's wedding?" Gil asked, in a tone she knew required more than a vapid exclamation of happiness.

"I… just…." Anne began unsteadily. "I'm not ready… to lose her so completely. For so long, we've been inseparable, but now… or soon…. But I'm happy for her, I promise! I'm just… in the pits of despair when I think too much about how distant her new life will be."

A brief silence lingered as Anne finished her confession in a low tone.

Her hands tightened around her mug, desperately seeking a distracting, comforting heat from a now empty and cool container.

But then, a warmth she didn't expect.

Gil's hand had come to rest on top of hers.

Startled, Anne glanced at Gil, his face now slightly older, more mature than she remembered.

"It's okay to miss her, Anne," Gil whispered, his eyes firmly on the road. "Di understands more than you realize, I think."

The moment breathed for a second longer: the guilt of Anne's un-whole happiness for Di, Gil's warm hand on her shaking one, his kind, understanding validation.

And then, the second expired.

Anne felt his hand slide from hers slowly, his palm grazing her knuckles, his pinky brushing her thumb.

And before his actions could resettle the icy tension from before, Gil made a jarring lane change and quickly spoke.

"Let's grab something to eat, huh? I don't want to eat an entire rehearsal dinner if I can help it!"


	5. Chapter 5

The pair—both smelling a tinge more like cheese and chili than before—soon merged back onto the interstate toward their hometown.

And lunch had been nearly perfect, in Anne's esteem.

Just off the exit, Gil pulled over at a strange, little pretzel stand, which was surrounded by signage claiming, "We Have the Best Chili Cheese Pretzels in the County."

"With a claim like that," Gil had said, as he shifted into park. "We have no other choice. We're intrepid, intelligent college students, and if we don't test their claim, then we're wasting our brains, aren't we, Anne?"

His mock sincerity made Anne laugh like she hadn't in ages, and she hopped out of the car and walked to the dusty, white stand.

After shaking out enough loose change from her purse to pay for her meal, Anne heard Gil's voice from behind her quickly place his order and pay for both their meals.

"Gil," Anne had begun, her eyes meeting those of the man who had saved her multiple times within the last 12 hours. "You're already giving me a ride and not asking for a down payment on gas and not completely blowing me off, which would be understandable…."

"Anne," Gil had countered with a smirk. "I'll buy you this pretzel, but don't think you're not paying me back for it."

"Oh?"

"Of course, but I don't seek reparations in a monetary sense," Gil began, sensing Anne's growing smile. "If at any time this weekend, I call you over to save me from Josie, Rachel Lynde, or the like, then you will pull me away for "wedding matters," and we'll call it even, okay?"

"Okay," Anne had grinned, and the two sat down at a chipped picnic table and chowed down on their chili cheese pretzels.

And once they were back on the road with bellies full of the best pretzels in the county, a quiet, but comfortable, silence fell between them.

"This is nearly like old times," Anne thought peacefully.

Before long, they were nearing recognizable sights and landmarks, and the beautiful windows and terraces of the White Sands Hotel peeked over the birches.

A memory occurred to Anne, and she smiled at the thought of it.

"Remember when we gave our oratories there, Anne?" Gil asked, a nostalgic smile resting on his face as well.

"I was just thinking of that, too, Gil," Anne laughed. "We are on the same wavelength today, my friend!"

The midday sun glinted off the hotel's glass panes, and Anne felt the warmth of nearing home and rekindling a lost connection.

"I feel like I could never forget a single syllable of my poem," Gil began. "I rehearsed a thousand times in my bedroom and in my backyard and in front of my parents and to anyone who would listen! 'There's another—not a sister': that was always my favorite line!"

At his words, Anne felt the same blush rise to her cheeks as rose on that long-ago day at those very same words. Gil had said them so meaningfully and so directly at her, and Anne couldn't help but wonder….

"I wonder if I'm still 'not as sister'," Anne mused, casting her glance toward Gil, who was intently watching the road.

As Anne settled into her thoughts again, her eyes fell on a ticket wedged in the cupholder where her empty coffee mug sat.

King Lear, A Shakespeare Production

Admit One—Christine Stuart

Section III, Row F, Seat 3

A constricting coolness clenched Anne's heart as she read the slip, but she soon shook off that uncomfortable prickling in her soul and re-entered reality.

"Of course Gil would take Christine to see a play," Anne thought. "They're dating! She's definitely 'not a sister', and I shouldn't even worry about it. I have Roy and there's no one I want more!"

Determined to seem unaffected, Anne questioned Gil on various topics, and the two further caught up on each other's lives.

If, perhaps, a stilted coolness had entered slightly in their words, it was soon warmed when road signs for Bright River flashed by.

Anne began to tell Gil of the day she arrived on the bus from Mrs. Spencer's. When she imagined spending the night in the blossoming cherry tree. When she laid eyes on her dear Matthew and instantly knew she loved him.

All thoughts of Christine and Roy drifted from Anne's mind as she recounted her first day of real, true happiness, and when she glanced at Gil, she caught a smile as genuine and sweet as her own.

The little car approached the very station her bus had pulled into a decade before and decelerated at the nearby gas station.

Gil stopped the car at a pump and exited, and Anne rested in her content memories for a few minutes.

Then, her car door opened suddenly

"Come own!" Gil said, reaching for her hand. "Let's go see that cherry tree you've talked so much about."

Anne grinned, hopped out of the car, and soon was dragging Gil, whose hand still grasped hers, towards a pure, cloudy tree about a half a mile from the station.

"Isn't it simply gorgeous?" Anne asked, glowing with the feeling of a memory realized.

She let go of Gil's hand and approached the tree's trunk, ducking under boughs of silky blossoms and navigating to the center.

Gil didn't immediately follow, and Anne knew he must have understood something she couldn't even describe in writing.

She smoothed her fingertips along the bark and plucked a few flowers from a close branch.

Ten years disappeared with a blink and were replaced with two red braids, the hum of Matthew's motor, and the sense of returning home to a place she'd never been.

Anne leaned against the smooth trunk and heard a gentle rustling from the surrounding branches.

The air shifted and Gil circled from around the other side of the tree; he balanced himself with a hand above and to the right of her head, and his arm created a comforting barrier around them.

Anne tilted her head up and looked into his eyes, which were disconcertingly close to hers.

"Are you okay, Anne?" Gil asked, ostensibly unaffected by the pair's nearness. "I know this place and the memories of Matthew mean a lot to you."

The wind rushed through the cotton-candy blossoms and soft petals caught in Anne's hair.

"I'm fine, Gil," Anne whispered.

But as Gil's hand slid from the bark above her head and began to pick out the petals nestled in her hair, Anne knew she was far from fine.

She felt the years of remorse and guilt melt away under the pale pink boughs, and Gil's hand continued its journey from her hair to her shoulder to her upper arm.

Anne swallowed and Gil inched toward her.

Every thought drifted from her mind, and she leaned her head back to parallel Gil's.

A new memory wove itself together with the old one in Anne's mind, and just as the final stitch was about to be sewn….

An urgent ringing erupted from Anne's pocket; the pair froze then wavered backward a bit.

Anne slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the blaring phone, but her eyes never left Gil's: she knew who was calling without a single glimpse at the screen.

"Hello, Roy," Anne said, her voice both monotonous and on edge.

Gil's eyes implored hers for one moment longer before he nodded, released her arm, and took a step back and then away from the cherry tree.


	6. Chapter 6

Frigid.

Anne longed for frigid.

Because frigid would feel nearly tropical compared to the current temperature in Gil's car.

When Anne had walked across the field to the vehicle, she spotted Gil sitting in the driver's seat, casually checking his phone and pointedly not making eye contact with her.

Anne wordlessly slid into the passenger's seat, and just as silently, Gil dropped his phone into a cupholder and shifted into gear.

The progress of the past few hours dissipated, and only a frozen bitterness—like that following Gil's first botched proposal to Anne—remained.

The pair sat at awkward angles from each other; each trying to inch as far from each other as the confines of the compact car would allow.

Green road signs flashed by and Avonlea neared, but the tension grew increasingly tangible as landmarks from their beloved town materialized around corners and groves of trees.

Anne had longed for their joint reunion with Avonlea to be a joyous occasion, but it wasn't to be.

The uncomfortable pair drove into the outskirts of town without a word or a glance.

And just when it seemed the car's windows would crack from tension, Gil turned left down the Lane toward Green Gables.

Anne smiled for the first time in hours, and a sliver of sunshine warmed the war as the pale birches and vivid wildflowers flashed by.

So many hours Anne had spent loitering down the lane, with Gil trailing behind her, the two talking about everything and nothing.

With Anne doing her best to brush off that look of Gil's, that soft, guiding touch on her elbow, that glance from her eyes to her mouth.

Though those days were far away now, Anne felt a distinct loss as she passed the deserted groves and trails she and Gil once explored.

Anne shifted her eyes toward Gil: he stared straightforward intently, his knuckles white and tense.

They were just seconds from Green Gables when Anne decided to risk a chance.

"Gil, I never meant—"

A grove of trees passed by on the right, and they were suddenly pulling into Green Gables's drive way.

Anne's words choked in her throat when she saw her home and the small figures rocking in old, white chairs on the front porch.

As Dora and Davy sprinted toward the car, Anne sensed Gil's eyes shift—for the first time— off the road and onto her, burning into the side of her face, and she hesitated for a moment before turning to look back at him.

The moment their eyes connected, time and the car stopped.

But before anything could pass between them, Anne's door swung open, and Davy and Dora practically yanked her from the car and out of Gil's gaze.

* * *

Anne watched from the porch as Gil's car vanished around the corner, and she desperately wished for just a little more time alone with him.

A little more time to clear things up.

To get back on track.

To return to those memories that still lingered in Anne's mind.

"How was the trip, Anne?" Marilla asked.

Marilla, Mrs. Lynde, Davy and Dora all sat in dusty-white rocking chairs on the dusty-white porch, and Anne leaned against the railing facing her beloved family.

"Oh," Anne said, brushing imaginary crumbs off her striped shirt. "It wasn't too bad. Long, but not terrible. Gil's a good road trip partner."

"Seeing the two of you was just like old times, I'd say," said Mrs. Lynde, her eyes never leaving her knitting but her mouth smirking pointedly. "The way he lugged your bags up to your room and made polite conversation with us old ladies was quite sweet, too, you know."

"Oh, hush, Rachel," Marilla said, her eyes softening at the pained embarrassment staining her daughter's face. "How's Roy doing, dear?"

Anne smiled thankfully at her mother and started in on an update of her boyfriend, her academics, and her friends.

And for a few hours, Anne forgot about all her troubles amidst her family's antics and Marilla's homemade lemonade.

* * *

Di's rehearsal dinner was to be held at the old A.V.I.S building, and when Anne arrived—two hours early— she couldn't have been more excited or more overladen with the decorations and gifts Marilla had piled in a box.

"Anne!"

She ducked her head around her burden and saw Di rushing towards her at full speed.

Impulsively, Anne dropped her box to the ground, without a thought for breakable items, and sprinted to meet Di.

The pair hugged like it had been thirty years, and Anne's heart filled with love for Di and then constricted with a strange pain of loss.

"You know," Di began, her voice muffled. "I'm not going to disappear after the wedding. I'll always need my best friend."

"I know," Anne whispered, her secret fears calmed by Di's simple statement.

The two women bustled around the room, tying bows, clipping flowers, hanging strings of lights, and setting name cards, and all the while, they caught up with each other.

"How's Patty's Place working out?" Di asked. "I know it was such a blessing to get the house, especially for so cheap and so close to campus, but I was worried about all you girls, out on your own."

Anne laughed.

"Oh, well, we did have some trouble getting on at first. We argued a little about who should clean what and when, and whether we should use tacks on the wall or double-sided wall tape, but now, we've got it all worked out, and we're all getting along swimmingly!"

Di grinned as she dropped tea candles into the silver votives on each of the tables.

"I wish I could've lived on my own a bit," Di began, lightly. "Instead of just going straight from Orchard Slope to the house Fred bought for us, but I'm so incredibly proud of you for doing it that I almost feel as if I did it myself!"

"You're a sweet angel, Di, and Fred will never be good enough for you," Anne smiled, laying spoons beside each plate. "But I need to ask, what do we need to do for Saturday? Anything major?"

"Not that I can think of right now," Di said. "But my mind is so scattered, I can hardly remember to brush my hair! If you want to plan on staying at Orchard Slope on Friday night, that'd be wonderful! That way we can handle all the last minute details and have one last, real sleepover."

"That sounds perfect, Di," Anne said, happier than she'd been in so long.

She and Di quickly finished all the final details, and before long, the wedding party and family members started arriving for the rehearsal dinner.

Though dozens of her childhood friends enveloped Anne in comforting hugs, she couldn't quite shake the nervousness that developed when a certain curly brown head walked in.

Throughout the whole night, she skillfully avoided eye contact and conversation with Gil while still keeping track of his presence and proximity in the back of her mind and her peripheral vision.

Anne and Gil's stubborn avoidance of each other attracted the attention of most of the party, especially Di, who had once assumed a similar event would take place for the out-of-sorts pair.

But despite the tension between the maid of honor and best man, the dinner and the rehearsal went off seamlessly, and after the fact, when Anne was tossing napkins and decorations into the trashcan, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

It was Di, who wordlessly grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the ladies' room.

"Anne, what's happening between you and Gil?" Di began. "I understand that you two have a long, complicated, easily-resolvable relationship, but I want to know what all this new tension is about? And not just because it would seriously make my life easier if my maid of honor could actually talk to Fred's best man!"

Anne propped herself against the sink counter and sighed.

"I don't know, Di. Things were looking up on the way over, but then there was this tree and this moment and this look, and everything got all messed up again!"

The bride-to-be brushed her glossy black hair back from her face and raised her eyebrows in contempt.

"A tree, really?" Di laughed ruefully. "Listen, Anne, you know I love you, and a lot of _other people_ here love you, too. And I think if you would just talk to _other people_ and figure some things out and maybe stay away from trees, this whole thing could resolve itself, right?"

Anne smiled and released a breath she didn't know she was holding in.

"Of course you're right, Di. I'll think it over, and I'll try to smooth things out at least for this weekend. I wouldn't want to screw up your wedding with my petty issues."

"Oh, that's the least of my worries," Di laughed. "Well, maybe not the least!"

"Shut up," Anne grinned. "Do you know what I had to do to get here? I'm a blessing to your whole wedding!"

* * *

An hour later, Anne trudged up the creaky stairs at Green Gables, exhausted and anxious.

She flopped down on the pastel quilt on her childhood bed, and closed her eyes briefly.

A buzzing next to her head startled her from her half-sleep, and Anne rifled through her purse with one hand, searching for her phone.

_Sorry about today, Anne. Maybe a walk down the Lane tomorrow morning? We can talk some things through?_ —Gil at 11:47

Anne giggled, almost deliriously, and quickly responded.

_Count me in._


	7. Chapter 7

Anne woke to the sounds of home.

Marilla in her old, blue pinstriped slippers shuffling down the hall.

Dora and Davy bustling about the kitchen and whipping up a meal vaguely resembling breakfast.

Just below her window, the sprinkler rattling rhythmically, watering the garden in the backyard.

And after months of blaring alarms startling her awake, Anne almost let the very sounds which awakened her lull her back into her dreams.

One thought, however, sparked Anne's energy like normally only coffee would: Gil should be strolling over to Green Gables at some point this morning.

And it would be quite embarrassing and disappointing if she overslept _that_.

So Anne dressed and readied herself quickly, searching her haphazardly-packed suitcase for her toothbrush, her mascara and, hopefully, her peace-of-mind.

But as she pulled open the door by its old brass knob, Anne knew she was as nervous as she had always been when Gilbert Blythe was concerned.

Nervous like the evening after Miss Lavendar's wedding.

Nervous like the cozy afternoons spent _studying_ (or trying to, under Gil's gaze) at his apartment.

Nervous like the night he pulled her into the backyard of Patty's place and….

The especially-creaky bottom step and smell of pancakes interrupted Anne's thoughts, and she shoved her nervousness into the corner of her mind and focused on breakfast with her family.

* * *

After, as she and Marilla scrubbed room-temperature syrup off butter-yellow plates, Anne felt her anxiety creeping back into her mind.

Gil still hadn't shown up.

Her eyes lingered out the casement window above the farmhouse sink, and her conversation with Marilla petered out.

The sprinkler had stopped, and in the 10 o'clock sun, the garden glittered with diamond droplets of water.

"I'm going to check on the herbs, Marilla," Anne stated absently, pulling the sink's drain and tossing the sponge in its little dish. "They probably need some calmer love than perhaps Davy and Dora give them."

"Of course, Anne-girl," smiled Marilla, as she wiped the last golden plate dry. "Bring me some flowers for the dinner table, too, would you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Anne said, saluting her mother and backing out the door.

Marilla sensed her daughter's distraction and wondered what could've happened to knock her into this state of mind.

"Oh, well," she murmured and set about refilling the sink and grabbing the cups, forks, and frying pan Anne had completely missed.

* * *

Once outside, Anne felt the cool, midmorning air inject some peace into her blood.

"I worry and worry and worry, but I've always ended up well enough," Anne whispered to herself as she plucked some rosemary and smelled it. "There's still two hours of morning left! And he said morning, so I've only got two more hours to worry about this at all."

So Anne patched together all the confidence she could find in herself and wandered about the garden as cheerfully as possible.

Soon, she settled in the mossy, iron bench next to a tree in the garden, and she began to pick through potential candidates for the Marilla's flower vase.

Humming, Anne clipped the peony stems diagonally and started to arrange them against clusters of violet hydrangeas.

With the uncomplicated, beautiful work before her, her mind un-muddled itself more than it had in ages.

And in the soft, breezy stillness, Anne continued working until her arrangement was almost complete, and she turned the bouquet over in her hands.

It was missing something….

"Don't I feel foolish! I walk all the way over here, bring you lilies of the valley, and you've already got a gorgeous bunch of flowers yourself!"

Anne turned her flushed face, and her eyes landed a tall figure in a plaid shirt smugly leaning against the tree behind her. He held a wild bunch of creamy lilies in one hand, and when Anne giggled, Gil pushed off from the tree and held out the flowers to her.

"These are perfect," Anne began, her cheeks as pink as the peonies in her hand. "I needed something tall and thin to balance out the short bunches of the hydrangeas."

She grabbed the lilies and began filling out her bouquet with the little, bell-like blooms.

"Then I'm glad to be of service," Gil laughed as he jumped over the bench and sat down next to her. "How was your night? Did you and Di have any good talks?"

"Actually," Anne said, her eyes pointedly fixed on the flowers in her hands. "Yesterday, when I arrived to help her set up for the rehearsal, she—out of the blue and with almost no prompting from me—told me how much she would always love me and how her marriage to Fred wasn't going to change our status as kindred spirits."

"Really?" Gil smirked. "It's almost as if what I said would happen… actually happened."

Anne rolled her eyes at his words and smug expression of false surprise.

"It's like you could say," Gil continued, his eyes growing wide. "That I was correct. That I wasn't wrong. That you could say I was…."

Dramatically, he turned his head and stared at Anne meaningfully and playfully.

"You were right," Anne conceded, but not before elbowing him roughly in the side. "You were right that she understood more than I thought and that she was probably feeling the same way I did."

"Hold on!" Gil said, recovering from his attack quickly and pulling an invisible recorder from his breast pocket. "Can you say it one more time for the record, Ms. Shirley?"

"Oh hush," Anne giggled, swatting away his hand. "You were right. This once. But don't get used to it. Especially not from me."

Gil laughed and took the bouquet from her hands.

"I would never presume to be in the right where it concerns you, Queen Anne," Gil answered lightly but with an edge of truth. "But of course, Di was on the same page as you! You two are practically mind readers with each other. Which is a gift I quite wish Di would pass onto me now that she's getting married. Maybe I could avoid more elbow-shaped bruises on my ribcage."

"You could avoid them if you didn't talk so much!" Anne exclaimed, before snatching her flowers back and standing up. "Help me pick some daisies from the front yard? We can head down the lane after."

"Of course, Anne," Gil said, but he didn't stand up for a moment. "There are a some…things we need to discuss."

Their eyes—almost on the same plane with Anne standing and Gil seated—locked for a few seconds, and if time had afforded them a minute more, perhaps Anne would've stepped an inch forward or Gil would've reached out for more than just the bouquet this time.

Perhaps.

If not for the sprinkler unexpectedly restarting and showering the moment.

Laughingly, the pair sprinted away from the garden and up the three steps to the wraparound porch.

"What time is it?" Anne grinned, smoothing her water-glazed hair out of her eyes.

"Uh, 11:15," Gil answered, checking his phone and wiping water droplets off the screen with his tartan sleeve.

"Oh, then perhaps," Anne began as the pair rounded the corner of the house. "Once we put these flowers inside and head down the Lane, it'll be nearly lunchtime—"

"And we can go to Lawson's for lunch?" Gil finished, grinning from ear to ear.

And Anne grinned back, her eyes sparkling like the water caught in her hair.

But as the breathless pair reached the front porch, they were met with a surprise decidedly more unexpected than the explosive sprinkler.

There, on the white-washed steps of Green Gables, stood Roy Gardner, making conversation with Marilla.

And Anne wasn't sure exactly how many more surprises her heart could handle in one day.

* * *

"Oh, Anne!" Marilla croaked, her eyes nervously settling on the damp, startled, inexplicably-guilty pair. "I was just about to come and find you! Roy is here…."

Marilla's sentence petered off lamely, and Anne felt her mother shifting the action and handling of the situation to her.

Her mind whirred back into action, and she took charge as well as one might in such a situation.

"Oh, Roy," Anne began, handing the bouquet to her mother and walking towards her boyfriend. "What in the world are you doing here?"

Her tone was as airy as she could make it, but she could feel tension permeating her being as she approached Roy.

His fancy, out-of-place clothes contrasted against the dusty, wooden porch, and behind him, his shiny, out-of-place car loomed strangely in Green Gables' dirt-paved driveway.

"Well, after our last phone call," Roy said, emphasizing _last_ so only Anne would understand. "I realized I must come see you this weekend. I was quite idiotic to decline attending this wedding in the first place. Of course, I should meet your family and friends at some point, and what better way than at the marriage of your best friend, Diana!"

Anne's face paled at the mention of the phone call under the cherry blossoms; she had hardly listened to a word he said, but what she did hear, she contradicted and fought, and she eventually hung up without so much as a "Goodbye."

She had been much too preoccupied with something else….

But never would she had expected Roy to drive down—all the way to Avonlea—to amend their quarrel in person.

And even though she was caught in a peculiarly awkward situation, Anne felt her heart soften at the man standing before her.

"You are much too good for me," Anne smiled sadly, smoothing her hand along his cheek.

"Don't be silly, Anne," Roy said, catching her hand and pulling her to his side. "I'm quite excited to meet everyone, especially Davy and Dora. Might we go in now?"

Roy gestured to the front door, and Anne's eyes fell first on Marilla, who nodded and shifted slightly toward the door.

Then, Anne's eyes fell on Gil, whose cast his eyes on the sun-bleached planks of wood at his feet.

"Oh, but Gil and I—"Anne began, desperate to diffuse this situation.

"I was just about to leave," Gil interrupted brightly and artificially. "I just had to run some things by Anne for the big day tomorrow, but my mother has me reserved for the rest of the afternoon, I believe. She wants me to move the couch to the other side of our living room!"

Anne sighed in relief, and a quick glance at Roy proved he believed Gil's story without a doubt.

"Leave it to Gil to completely transform this situation into something so simple," she thought to herself, her eyes following Gil's sturdy figure as he crossed the porch.

"Good to see you, Roy," Gil said, shaking Roy's free hand and glancing at Anne for one split-second. "And lovely as usual, Mrs. Cuthbert!"

Marilla nodded, and Gil hopped down the stairs and walked steadily across the yard.

Roy's arm tightened around Anne as he guided her toward the door, and Anne vaguely heard a trifling conversation pass between him and her mother.

Her full attention, however, focused on the figure nearing the Lane, and Anne could've sworn that the figure—just at the edge of disappearing in the cluster of trees—turned back one last time.


	8. Chapter 8

Each individual tick of Roy's extravagant wristwatch vibrated against Anne's shoulder as the pair sat on the musty floral love-seat in Green Gables' sitting room.

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla had discreetly abandoned the couple after a post-dinner discussion of the next day's wedding, and now, Anne sat alone with Roy in her shabby, childhood home—a place she could've never imagined him before.

A place she struggled to recognize him in now.

Anne glanced over at Roy, whose arm encircled her a little uncomfortably, and she discovered him already staring at her.

She hadn't said much to him since dinner ended, and his eyes assumed the sad-puppy quality they always did when they were in a spat or she ignored him.

"I'm happy you drove all the way down here, Roy," Anne said, unclasping her hands in her lap and taking Roy's free hand. "I know you're very busy and this was quite a drive and you weren't too keen on meeting my entire family and extended family all in one day—"

"It's quite fine, really, Anne," Roy interrupted gently, and Anne felt his free hand stroke a lock of her auburn hair. "I shouldn't have dismissed your proposition so easily. Your family will be my family soon enough, of course."

His eyes shone meaningfully, and a weight of finality wafted over Anne.

Suddenly, she felt constricted and too-warm, and she longed for nothing more than to sprint from the room and abandon Roy and everything far behind.

But the look in Roy's eyes prodded hers for an answer.

"Of course," she smiled.

Roy's arm tightened around her and his watch's ticking-and-tocking amplified once more; Anne concentrated on its sound and soon refocused herself enough to continue the conversation.

"I have to head over to Orchard Slope soon," she began, standing up and walking to the center of the claustrophobic room. "Di's expecting me soon; we need to go over some last minute details."

Roy stood and followed her into the hallway, his hand grasping for hers.

"I should be heading back to Carmody, I suppose," Roy answered, referencing the hotel room he had booked in the neighboring town. "I need some rest before the barrage of introductions I'll receive tomorrow."

The pair reached the moonlit porch, and Anne cast her eyes down towards the warped planks.

She could sense Roy's eyes roaming over her, and she wished he would just say whatever thoughts had been forming in his mind all night.

Though Roy had seemingly bought Gil's lie earlier, Anne perceived suspicions radiating from her boyfriend throughout the evening. Whenever a quiet moment lingered, she noticed his gaze searching her face for…something.

And now, she knew he wanted to ask her or tell her or question her about that something.

She almost couldn't stand it.

She needed the moment to either explode or pass by.

The moaning winds howled through the full, green trees in the yard, and Anne took control once more.

"You should head out," Anne smiled, plastically. "I've got to start walking over to Di's before it gets too late, you know."

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to Roy's cheek.

His arms encircled her in an instant, and he locked her tightly against him.

"I love you, Anne," Roy whispered as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you more than anyone."

Anne sighed and allowed a beat of time to pass before she answered.

"I love you too," she said, muffled against the navy cotton of his shirt.

* * *

When Anne arrived at Orchard Slope, she had only recently recollected herself.

A mix of guilt and pain and anxiety frazzled her nerves, but she couldn't allow Di to pick up on her own silly struggles.

At least, not tonight.

Tonight was solely about Di.

She hurried up the stairs to Di's room and swung the pastel pink door open.

"Anne!"

Di lunged for Anne, tackling her in a flurry of tulle and satin.

"What on earth are you doing, Diana Barry," Anne giggled, after she surfaced from the sea of white fabric.

"I was trying on my dress one last time," Di said as she walked across the room to her antique vanity. "I've been stress eating all week, and I nearly ate a whole large pizza last night! I was just afraid that my dress wouldn't zip and I'd have to scour the town tomorrow morning to find a new one."

Anne plopped down her bags and belly flopped onto Di's brass-knobbed bed.

"Well?"

"It zips!" Di cried triumphantly, twirling around like a clumsy ballerina.

"And you look marvelous," Anne grinned, pulling herself into a sitting position and staring warmly at her best friend. "The absolute, most beautiful bride I've ever seen!"

"Oh, hush," Di said as she pulled the gown over her head.

"No, really, Di, I mean it," Anne continue affectionately. "You put all those bridal catalogue models to shame really."

Smiling, Di sat down next to Anne on the bed and stared at her for a minute.

"So, I heard someone showed up rather unexpectedly," Di began, trying valiantly to be nonchalant.

Anne rolled her eyes; no secret could exist in Avonlea.

Well, at least not many.

"How do we feel about this development?" Di continued, leaning comically close to Anne's face.

Di's breath indicated she had drunk a little _something_ before Anne had arrived, and a tipsy Di was all at once hilarious, nosy, and easily distractible.

"It's fine," Anne chuckled, swatting the side of Di's head. "I mean, I wish he had told me he was coming. And I wish I could've prepared better for it. And I wish I hadn't been about to walk down the Lane with Gil when Roy showed up. And I wish he had just agreed to attend your wedding when I asked him in the first place!"

"That's a lot of wishes, Anne," Di said, tossing her arm around Anne affectionately. "It's a shame about Gil, really…."

"Well, it's no matter really," Anne said quickly, desperate to change the subject. "What really matters is you tonight! What kind of details do we still need to discuss for the wedding tomorrow?"

Di sprung off the bed and to a pile of seating charts and name tags, and the friends dropped the uncomfortable topic in favor of wedding plans.

A sacrifice Anne wasn't unhappy to make.

* * *

The next morning—the morning of Di's wedding—the pair awoke surrounded by crumpled papers and plans and greeted with the smell of bacon and eggs.

Messy-haired and under-rested, the pair meandered downstairs and made quick work of their breakfast before scrambling back to Di's room to get ready for the big day.

Di's bridesmaids trickled in and soon the entire second floor of Orchard Slope was misted with hairspray and layered with smooth, creamy fabrics.

Anne watched as Di transformed from her childhood best friend into a gorgeous bride—whose dress definitely zipped.

A bittersweet moment enveloped Anne as she took one last glance at the veiled bride and slipped out into the hallway.

She leaned against the wall across from Di's door and smoothed down her own blush-colored gown.

A low creak shattered her moment of quiet, and she turned towards the staircase.

There stood, Gil with his hands in his pockets and his curly head cocked to the side.

Anne's face bloomed as she approached her old friend, and though the shadowy hall clouded her vision, she could've sworn a slight flush tinge his cheek as she glided toward him.

He mock-bowed in his crisp white shirt and dark green suspenders.

"Ready, Miss Shirley?"

"Of course, Mr. Blythe," Anne answered, linking her arm in his.

And they walked down the stairs, out of the house, and into the orchard behind the Barry's home where Fred and the guests awaited.

* * *

The wedding was a merrily blurry event, and before Anne could register the vows and charges, she and Gil marched back down the aisle to triumphant cheers and whistles.

As she swept across the petal-covered walkway, Anne caught Roy's dark-eyed glance, where something unpleasant stirred in his countenance.

Before she could process anything concerning Roy either, Mrs. Barry wrenched her from Gil's arm and toward the reception tables set up near the back porch.

Anne hurriedly set out food, directed guests to their tables, and balanced drinks in one hand while guiding the older folks to the house's back door.

The reception was fully underway by the time Anne flopped in her seat next Di at the head table.

"Thanks for all your help, Anne," Di began, her voice morphing from joyous to tearful in those few words. "I really appreciate you so much and I'm going to miss you so much and I just can't…."

"Hey, don't cry, Mrs. Diana Wright," Anne said, grabbing her napkin and throwing it at the back of Fred's head. "This is supposed to be a super happy day, so let your husband dry your tears and stare lovingly into your eyes!"

Di laughed and Anne grabbed her glass of champagne as Gil rose to give the best man's toast.

After the toasts wrapped up—Gil's causing Moody Spurgeon to shoot champagne from his nose and Anne's to water every present handkerchief— Di and Fred stepped out for their first dance in a clearing amongst the klatch of tables.

The glimmering string lights and mellow music painted an atmosphere of perfection and sweet, young love.

Anne watched as Fred and Di danced in their own little world, exchanging loving words and looks.

Soon, other couples joined the pair on the makeshift dance floor, and Anne heard Gil lean over the two empty chair between them.

"You know, I think the best man and the maid of honor are supposed to dance together, Anne," Gil grinned, a sparkle flashing in his hazel eyes.

"Oh, really?"

"Of course, it's tradition, I believe," Gil continued in mocking seriousness. "If we don't, their marriage will be cursed, actually. And when they inevitably divorce, we'll both know who it really was to blame."

Anne slapped his upper arm.

"Don't say such silly things, Gilbert Blythe, or I'll tell Mrs. Lynde you wanted to talk to her about church gossip!"

"You wouldn't dare," Gil gasped, horrified at the thought.

"Oh, I would—" Anne began, grinning and leaning over towards Gil.

"Anne!"

The pair jumped at the intrusive voice; Roy was approaching the head table with a tight smile on his face.

Anne shamefully settled back into her chair, and she watched as Gil turned his eyes down to the glass of wine in his hand. Roy's hand curved around her shoulder.

"Care to dance, my dear?"

His voice echoed over her, and Anne tilted her head back to look in his eyes.

"Of course, Roy."

Roy drew her up from her chair and onto the dance floor; they swayed among the other couples, and Anne focused as best she could on the man before her.

The man who loved her more than anyone.

The man she loved.

"I'm quite glad I decided to come here," Roy began, pulling her even closer to his chest. "Diana's wedding is quite beautiful, and all—well, most—of your little townfolk are just too kind and funny."

"Who's been not kind and funny?" Anne softly whispered up at Roy, who was already staring down at her.

"Oh, I suppose, there are a few people here," Roy said, his voice edged with something uneasy. "A few people who I'd rather not have seen."

Anne felt his gaze shift over her hair to the head table behind her, and her stomach twisted.

"Roy, I—"

"Before you give me any excuses about him, we need to talk about you, Anne," Roy whispered in steely tones.

But before another word could pass between Anne and Roy, the music evolved into a livelier beat, and Di grabbed Anne from Roy's embrace and pulled her into a group dance in the middle of the floor.

* * *

About 15 minutes later, Anne twirled out of the hectic dance floor, and her gaze fell on the punch table where a tableau sparked a memory in her mind.

Josie Pye practically circled Gilbert Blythe like a vulture as he filled a glass with a translucent pink liquid. She was making some inane conversation, and Gil kindly participated though his posture was rigid.

Anne wondered how long this incident had been going on, and her memory flashed with the promise to repay Gil for the pretzel and the car ride.

And Anne set about fulfilling it.

A few feet from the table, Anne called out his name.

"Gil, remember how Di made you promise to suck it up and dance with me? I know you'd probably rather spin around the floor with Josie here, but Di was adamant about us dancing. Something about some bridal curse or omen…."

Gil spun around and a grateful look washed over his face.

"You have to ruin everything, Anne," he said in mocking ruefulness. "I apologize, Josie, but Anne will sic Di on me if I don't go now."

Anne rolled her eyes and grabbed Gil's upper arm; ignoring the venomous glare from Josie, Anne dragged the willing best man onto the dance floor.

"Consider us even, Shirley," Gil said, placing his hands carefully on her waist and shoulder. "Unless your sorry butt needs a ride back to Redmond, of course."

"No, I think Roy might be able to take me back," Anne said quietly, her eyes fixed on the knot of his forest-hued tie. "But I appreciate the offer."

"Of course," Gil replied. "But I am quite glad we can't be blamed for ruining this marriage now; we've done our final duties as maid of honor and best man!"

Though the pair stood at respectful, appropriate angles from each other, Anne felt a hot, white guilt and shame creep over her as she and Gil spun about in the grassy clearing. The eyes of the whole town flitted over the once-assumed couple, and a undertone of whispers scored the dance.

Something magnetic drew her eyes from Gil's tie, and she saw Roy glaring at her from a nearby table with a glass of burgundy wine clutched in his hand.

Her lungs constricted, and under the gaze of the entire party, Anne suddenly felt overwhelmingly flushed.

"Anne, I think we need to talk," Gil began gently.

"You too?" She sighed in agitation.

"Anne, I really don't mean to—" Gil said defensively.

"I need to sit down," Anne breathed heavily, her eyes switching from Gil's serious face to the table where Roy was sitting.

At least, where he had been sitting: the now empty chair and lonely half-empty wine glass indicated an approaching storm

"I need to sit down," Anne repeated, her voice cracking.

Gil's serious expression transformed into concern, but the pressure of a foreign hand settled on her shoulder.

"Mind if I borrow Anne for a minute, Blythe?"

Roy's tone brooked no arguments, and once again, Anne was wrenched away.

As Roy pulled her onto the back porch, Anne felt her irritation rising as her legs hurried to keep in step with his longer ones.

"Can you stop doing that? Can everyone just give me some space for a minute?" Anne began viciously.

Roy huffed and clutched both of Anne's tense upper arms.

"He's in love with you, you know," Roy began softly but bitterly. "And you aren't acting like one should in a situation like that. I know you must know how he looks at you, but honestly, Anne, you're only giving fuel to his fire the way I've seen you look at him!"

"Oh, Roy," Anne scoffed, trying to break free his grasp. "You're being silly. I _love_ you! And you're imagining all these looks between Gil and I; he's just an old friend!"

Roy released her and ran a hand through his perfect hair; both knew a raucous scene was wildly inappropriate, so they both kept their voices low and their stances seemingly civil.

"I'm not imagining anything, Anne," he said, his tone dangerously quiet. "I just can't stand here and watch you with him. I love you, Anne! But you're not giving me any reason to believe you love me! And you're sure as hell giving me reason to worry over him."

Anne stood for a minute, battling over how to remedy this situation. She had devoted two years of her life to the agitated, jealous man before her, and she just couldn't break them on one strange, nostalgic weekend in Avonlea.

But….

She keenly felt one pair of eyes resting on her—eyes not Roy's.

However, she took a deep breath, and for Di's sake, Anne turned onto her tiptoes and kissed Roy's cheek.

This time, he didn't pull her close or grab for her at all.

"I love you, Roy," she said, both in vain and earnest. "You shouldn't worry about that one, single bit. And Gil's just… Gil. Ask anyone here; they'll tell you how he always seems to flirt with every girl."

Roy's melancholy gaze fell on her, and Anne detected a flash of relief and hope.

They stood in the whispery breeze for a few moments, each considering the other and the situation lying before them.

Roy spoke first.

"Anne, I think I'm going to return to Carmody for the night," he said gently, yet firmly. "I need to sleep on these events, else I make any rash decisions."

Anne closed her eyes and nodded; she felt the feathery brush of his hand down her arm, and when she looked up, she saw the back of his expensive suit turn the corner of the house.

She felt dangerously close to crying.

A year's worth of emotions and confusion crammed into the wedding's few hours, and Anne longed to be alone.

To recollect herself.

Not to be pulled away into the fray for a moment.

To redirect the town's nosy eyes from her.

With tears welling in her gray eyes, Anne rushed into the Barry's house and sprinted up the stairs toward Di's room.

She crashed into the chair of Di's vanity table and let the tears finally fall.

Roy's words and Gil's expressions echoed in her mind, and the mess she had made with both of them threatened to send her into a hysterical spiral.

She loved Roy, of course.

She had always wanted someone like him—ever since she was an ugly, lonely orphan girl .

He was very nearly perfect, and he loved her the way she had always longed for.

So why did she secretly thrill in those meaningful glances Gil had thrown her during the Di and Fred's vows?

Why did she wish her dance with the curly-haired man from her youth lasted just a moment longer?

The clock ticked over her self pity and reflection, and after a few minutes, Anne lifted her eyes to the warped mirror and surveyed the damage to her makeup.

She wiped away the blurred eyeliner and concealed her red under-eye bags with a stick of porcelain, matte foundation.

As she pinched pink liveliness back into her cheeks, Anne sensed a movement behind her.

In the mirror's gloomy reflection, Di's bedroom door opened quietly, and Anne took an apprehensive, shallow breath.

Gilbert Blythe softly closed the door behind him, and in the mottled mirror image, his gaze caught hers in an instant.


	9. Chapter 9

The faint clamor of the wedding party echoed lightly in the otherwise quiet, shadowy bedroom. Unsteadily, Anne rose from her chair as Gil uncertainly stepped toward her. A tortuously-noiseless minute ticked by where neither party spoke nor hardly breathed.

But, finally, Gil's voice splintered the fragile peace, and Anne drew her first, quivering breath in minutes.

"Where's Roy gone?"

"He headed back to Carmody for the night," Anne breathed, her hand finding the dull, brass bed-knob at the foot of Di's mattress.

"Ah, I see," Gil murmured, moving half a step closer to Anne. "That's good though; I need to talk to you about something, Anne."

"Of course," Anne said, her voice wavering nervously in the still air.

Gil's tone and expression weakened her knees, and as he inched nearer to her, she owed an incredible amount of gratitude to the sturdy bed supporting her.

"I need to talk to you, Anne," Gil repeated, combing a shaky hand through his curls. "The day under the cherry tree, I was so sure…. And then, the other day in the garden, I thought finally…. Then, when Roy showed up, I didn't know… but tonight…."

Gil sighed and paced to the other side of the room; frozen in place, Anne shifted her gaze from Gil's jittery figure and fixated on the pale door a few feet in front of her.

"Anne," Gil began again, his voice infused with an urgency that demanded her gray eyes' attention. "I'm still in love with you."

The breath constricted in her lungs, and Gil frantically approached her rigid form, seizing one of her white-knuckled hands in both of his.

"And I know you're with Roy now," Gil said, his words quick and chaotic. "But you have to know, Anne! I have not stopped loving you. Not for one, single moment. Not since that day in Mr. Phillips' classroom. Not since that awful day two years ago. And I've watched you with Roy, and I know you aren't in love with him."

Gil's words hung between them, and his worried eyes searched hers for any reaction.

The carefully structured foundation of Anne's life crumbled beneath her as Gil's accusations sunk into her mind.

"No," Anne began, wrenching her hand from his grasp and enunciating each word viciously and clearly. "I love Roy, Gilbert Blythe. We've been dating for two years! You don't know anything about our relationship."

"I know you, Anne!" Gil exclaimed, desperation staining his voice. "I know that you might love him in some way or care for him or like him, but I know you, Anne. And I know you are not in love with him."

Anne huffed at his words and extricated herself from between the bed-frame and Gil's looming figure.

In her ghostly, rose-hued dress, she strode across the gloomy, foreign room, desperate to escape this situation.

"I, however, am insanely in love with you," Gil called after her as her fingers touched the antique doorknob. "And that's how I know you aren't in love with him."

Anne paused in her escape and turned her head so Gil was in her periphery.

"I know the way I look at you," Gil continued, his posture pleading and his words passionate. "And how you look at Roy is not even remotely close to how I look at you."

Anne let out a shallow, wracking breath and turned her whole body toward Gil once more. In his deep emerald shirt with a blush-colored carnation boutonniere, Gil suddenly looked so much older, so much more like a man.

He was no longer the boy who announced his love for her behind Patty's Place on that brisk, charcoal-clouded evening. This man stood before her in Di's disheveled room and explained his unwavering, decade-long love affair with her.

She who had teased and confused and encouraged and dashed his feelings.

She who had flaunted Roy as a perverse progress and accomplishment.

She who now looked upon her childhood friend and nemesis and sensed a heavy bind slip from around her heart.

"Gil," she whispered, and Gil took a hopeful step toward her.

Anxious thoughts tumbled through Anne's mind, but she quelled them with a shake of her head and a purposeful movement.

Before a second—or even first—thought could materialize, Anne walked across the room to Gil and paused a breath away from him, her hand hovering over his chest.

"Anne," Gil murmured with a choke.

"You're right….I'm not in love with him," Anne said, before sliding her fingers behind his neck and pulling his head down for a kiss.

Gil's arms wrapped around her waist securely, and Anne's fingers twirled the little curls at the nape of his neck.

Gil kissed her with ten years' worth of anticipation and longing, and to her surprise, she matched his passion.

To her, Gil tasted like the wild apples in the deep of the Haunted Wood.

His touch, as his hand roamed over the thin satin of her dress, felt like autumn sunshine dappling her skin under the Lane's canopy of birches.

His scent invaded her senses like the first breath of home after a long time away.

Anne unlocked her fingers from behind Gil's neck and lazily drifted them over his collarbones and down his chest.

His rapid heartbeat pulsed against her fingertips, and Gil moaned as she brushed her hands over his upper chest.

In the dim room lit only by the twinkling lights of the party below, Anne felt Gil guiding her toward the focal point of Di's room.

Lost as she was in their kiss, Anne recognized the feeling of quilted cotton against her calves, but she focused solely on her hands' journey down Gil's strong arms.

Not breaking the kiss, Gil gently pushed her down until she sat on the edge of the bed, and Gil's knee displaced the lumpy mattress next to her thigh.

Gil lightened the kiss before pressing a line of soft pecks along her chin and jaw; any tension in her back melted, and Anne slowly eased backwards onto the mattress as Gil placed breathy kisses along her neck.

But as Gil's other knee slid to the mattress and brushed the side of her left thigh, Anne awoke to the reality of the situation.

Gilbert Blythe hovered over her, his fingers stroking the side of her waist and his head buried in her neck.

In the new Diana Wright's childhood bed.

Just a floor away from where all of Avonlea celebrated.

"I can't," Anne mumbled, her hands recoiling from him as if electrocuted.

Rapid, guilty impulses crossed her mind, and Anne pushed Gil off her slightly, wriggled out from under him, and jumped off the bed.

Anne rushed to the door, momentarily glancing backward at the image of a confused, messy-haired Gil sprawled on the bed.

But this time, she didn't hesitate; Anne sprinted from the room and skidded down the hallway to the echoes of Gil's hoarse voice calling her name.

Bursting from the Orchard's front door, Anne subconsciously raced toward the Lane; she longed for distance from everything right now.

From the wedding.

From her traitorous feelings.

From Gil and his warm hands…

"Why did I let him do that?" Anne asked herself, her heart clinching in pain. "And, even worse, why did I do that?"

The silvery moonlight illuminated the ashy-white birches as Anne slipped down the Lane toward Green Gables; faintly, behind her, Anne heard the crunches of a second set of feet.

Though she pressed on with all her strength, she knew Gil could easily outpace her: just as he did at the church picnic race so many years ago.

With shallow breaths and plenty of remorse, Anne's entire body ached, and on a manic impulse, she halted and turned on her heel.

Gil, only a few yards behind, rapidly advanced on her position in the middle of the Lane, but Anne held up her hands in shaky defense.

"Stop," Anne croaked, her throat swelling and her eyes watering. "I need to go home… right now…. and I don't need to _talk_ about anything else with you ever again!"

Anne stepped backward carefully, and she watched as a wince of misery lighted in Gil's hazel eyes.

"Anne, I am so sorry if I scared you or took advantage of you," Gil pleaded, his arms stiffly at his sides. "I don't know what came over me! I just couldn't believe what was happening and I've been waiting for…. But I shouldn't have ever let it go that far, especially since you're still with Roy—"

"Don't forget about Christine!" Anne interrupted, the angry memory of the theatre ticket in Gil's cupholder flitting across her mind.

"Christine?" Gil questioned, his brow furrowing. "What does Christine have to do—"

"She has everything to do with it," Anne interrupted again frantically, shifting further away from Gil, though the phantom pressure of his hands still lingered on her waist. "And Roy, too! I don't know why I said what I did about Roy, but it isn't true. And we just need to forget this ever happened; I don't know what possessed me, but I know it was a mistake!"

"So you're telling me _that_ meant nothing?" Gil asked, striding toward the trembling woman. "That the way you kissed me was purely a reaction? That you didn't feel every last second of that the way I did? That you take back what you said about Roy, and we'll forget everything—and I mean, _everything_ —that's happened between us?"

Anne stared at the plush green grass beneath her feet and let the moment drift between them.

The roar of retreating vehicles reverberated down the alley of birches, and a placid breeze whistled faintly through the leaves above them.

Anne's mind throbbed with doubts and resolves and guilt and quickly-banished longing before she finally chose her path.

"I love Roy, and he loves me," Anne began, squaring her shoulders confidently. "What happened between us was a mistake, and as our history has proved, any kind of relationship between us will ultimately fail, and with Roy, I don't have that kind of track record, Gil. So, yes, I will do my best to put _everything_ that happened this weekend behind me."

At her tone's finality and malice, Gil's jaw clenched, and his demeanor morphed into haughty indifference.

"Consider it done on my half," Gil said, his posture harsh and his eyes cold.

"Good," Anne declared, clearly and sharply.

The night's peaceful atmosphere contrasted bitingly with the pyrrhic war waging between them; ghostly farewells and shouts from the departing wedding guests mocked the estranged pair, and nighttime chirps cheerfully scored their strained climate.

Finally, Gil tossed his head to one side and let out a deep breath; his gaze drifted to Anne's one last time, and he shook his head slightly.

Anne watched as he paused for a moment more before abruptly turning and briskly retreating down the Lane.

Alone, finally, Anne crumpled to the ground and let out a shuddering sob.

The twinkling lights from Orchard Slope gradually faded, and the last blissful wedding guests started home.


	10. Chapter 10

Gray.

All Anne knew was gray.

Her gray irises—rimmed in slightly-swollen pink eyelids.

Her gauzy, gray dress—the only neutral clothing item she'd tossed in her weekend bag.

The gray sky ahead—as she gazed from the window of Roy's polished, black vehicle.

Yes, her world was now tinted with the hazy color, and Anne blankly fell back into her charcoal leather seat as Roy zipped pass a slow-moving car.

Since the pair had reversed out of Green Gables' driveway, Anne hadn't directed a word to her boyfriend of two years, but—as she thought to herself—Roy hadn't said anything to her either.

So in the forced silence of a long drive, Anne wearily leaned back and let her eyes flutter shut.

Her thoughts meandered back to her wonderful, disastrous weekend in Avonlea.

She could still feel the blades of cool grass beneath her hands and shins as she sobbed weakly in Lover's Lane.

She could smell the clean detergent from Diana's quilt mingled with the musty cologne lingering on Gil.

She could hear the strumming of the folk band and the clicking of heels on the makeshift dance floor outside the Barry's home.

She could see the budding spectrum of flowers in Marilla's garden sparkling with liquid gems.

She could taste the cheesy, salty pretzel at the white-washed shack on the out-of-the-way exit.

Now, she could hear raindrops splatter against the windshield of Roy's vehicle, and she wandered further in her mind.

She felt the cold raindrops slide down her legs as the musty smell of decrepit carpet invaded her nose. The throbbing of her heart echoed in the hall and her ears as her knuckles rapped against the grainy plywood door. Then, lamplight blinded her for a moment before a flash of hazel….

"Anne."

The images swiftly drained from her working memory, and Anne opened her eyes.

A somber storm gathered ahead, but Anne turned to Roy, wordlessly.

"Anne, I've decided to forgive you," he began nervously, aware of Anne's gaze burning on his cheek. "Because… well, because I think I ought to forgive you."

Anne raised her eyebrows in surprise and started fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"Yes, it does seem like the best course, the most prudent course," Roy continued, growing bolder. "I must assume I caught you rather unawares, and that Avonlea should obviously draw out a rather different side of you. A side I had not known until recently."

"Roy," Anne said, swallowing painfully. "I really don't—"

"But I do believe some _events_ rather out of your control occurred," Roy steamrolled on. "And though I cannot put you at fault for those _events_ , I do find I can hold you accountable for your actions in response to those _events_."

Anne clenched the filmy fabric in her fist as Roy drove his stinging words into her prickling conscience.  
"And what was so offensive about my actions, Roy Gardiner," Anne asked sourly.

Roy clenched his jaw irritably, and Anne watched as his brow knit together.

"I found you with him," Roy said with quiet venom. "I watched you dance with him. I watched you flirt with him and glance at him and smile at him. And I watched it all like a dolt. Surrounded by your family and your entire peculiar town. And they all ate it up, cheered it on—like the embarrassing soap opera it is!"

Sudden sheets of rain drowned Anne's view outside her window, and she nearly suffocated in the cramped, stifled car, but Roy continued his dressing down without so much as a stutter.

"I dare not imagine what might have occurred if I had not attended this wedding. You acted without the least regard to propriety or decency, Anne. If you only understood how your actions affect me…."

A piercing guilt tore at Anne as Roy's words forced the memory of her encounter in Di's room to the front of her mind.

"But all this I'm willing to forgive, Anne," Roy whispered brokenly. "Because I love you so very dearly. Because I'm not ready to let you go. Because I don't believe you would've acted this way if it hadn't been for this perfect storm of circumstances: in Avonlea at your best friend's wedding with him. It's been a mirage of a weekend, and the Anne I know—the refined, Redmond Anne—would never behave that way."

Anne's eyes dropped shamefully, and the cab of the vehicle quieted for a moment.

"She would never hurt me," Roy murmured at last, his face haggard.

His crestfallen expression awakened something gentle in Anne. She had treated him abominably, and in some ways, he was right. The Anne he knew was more elegant and guarded and propitious. He had never seen her as she was in Avonlea, as she was when she was truly, freely at home.

And seeing her in such a state and with such _company_ must have been quite a shock for Roy.

And if Roy knew her every thought and deed from this weekend, Anne wondered if he could still forgive her.

If he could still feel obligated to her.

If he could still love her.

If those were the things she wanted from him still.

And she knew she must tell him about the kiss.

"Roy, I…."

The storm worsened, and Roy's knuckles paled as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, out of necessity and frustration. They were finally nearing the outskirts of Redmond.

"I need to tell you something," Anne whispered, her stare fixed hotly on Roy's face.

With a sigh, Roy veered down the exit ramp toward the college town and glanced briefly at Anne.

"Unless you are going to tell me you love me and you are so sorry for this weekend," Roy said unevenly. "I do not believe I can handle anything more this weekend, Anne. Please, give me more time to process what I already have."

"But Roy, I—" Anne began, her hands rising from her lap.

"Please, Anne," Roy shuddered. "If it's what I think it is, I need more time than even this drive allows."

Then, he stiffly turned left toward Redmond, Anne felt tears gather in her eyes, and the pair fell into tense silence once more.


	11. Chapter 11

The door of Patty's Place clicked behind Anne Shirley as she slid down its textured, chipped surface. Her forehead rested against her knees, and shining droplets of rain slipped from her auburn hair down her pale legs.

She faintly heard Roy's engine turning over as he accelerated away from the house, and she breathed the sigh of one finally alone.

As she thought of the silent, uneasy miles she and Roy had traveled, tears gathered in her gray eyes.

She had truly made a mess of everything between them.

Roy was her romantic ideal!

He was all she had wanted her whole life.

He was tall and dark and he loved her more than anything.

He loved her so much, in fact, he was willing to work past this wretched weekend.

Searing, white guilt bloomed in Anne's heart as she thought of Roy's quiet insinuation.

_"_ _Please, Anne, if it's what I think it is, I need more time than even this drive allows."_

Anne turned his damning words over in her mind.

Was she so transparent? Could he really have an inkling of what truly happened between her and Gil?

Anne's face flushed in shame, and she squeezed her legs tighter against her.

When had she become this person?

This person who flirts with and kisses a man she has long since rejected?

This person who cheats on her boyfriend of two years?

This person she doesn't even know anymore?

Anne's breath rattled in her lungs as guilt, disappointment, and confusion swelled within her, and quaking sobs shook her small frame.

So Anne sat for hours, curled in overwhelming misery, until Stella, Pris, and Phil returned home from a gallivanting party and discovered their tear-stained friend asleep on the floor.

* * *

It had been storming all week.

And Anne couldn't imagine more fitting weather for her mood.

Everything had once been so certain, and now, she wasn't sure even of herself.

She dragged her self to and from class, soggy and sullen, and spent her nights cooped in her tiny bedroom.

Her sweet, loving housemates had sincerely attempted to cheer her up since they found her on Sunday night, but Anne could sense them tiptoeing around her.

Though she only revealed hazy details of her weekend, her friends, like Roy, somehow divined or sensed the details Anne held back.

She could see it in their eyes.

In the way the girls exchanged quick, cryptic glances when Anne's voice brushed over Gil's name in an ostensibly unaffected tone.

In the way Pris narrowed her eyes as Anne's words faded after she related her tense conversation with Roy at Diana's reception.

In the way Phil's gaze shone smugly (though she stoked the smirking smile) as Anne recounted her unnerving drive back to Redmond.

And though they desperately longed for the unabridged story, they simply cared for Anne without pressuring her for answers and details.

Stella baked mini lemon pies and left them on Anne's dresser.

Phil texted her funny quotes from books and movies every hour or so.

Pris rented a different romantic comedy every night for the house to watch (a plan the three women concocted, hoping Anne would find a cinematic solution to her own real-life romantic comedy).

And Anne, who knew they wanted her whole truth, was wholly grateful they didn't press her for it.

She had enough to work out without dwelling again on every single mistake and event, and Anne turned her entire focus on settling her own heart.

She analyzed and questioned and remembered and sorted, and just when she decided on one clear answer, another more complicated issue would arise.

Soon, Anne found it wasn't an either-or decision.

It wasn't just Roy or Gil.

It was the ideal against the familiar; the security of an established relationship against a chance on the unknown; the romantic against the nostalgic.

And then, there was an unexpected question: was she good for either of them?

Anne winced as she though of her wrongful actions against both Roy and Gil, and she hardly knew if she shouldn't just walk away from them both—for their own well-beings.

And as Anne agonized in her own thoughts, her stricken mood remained, just as the stormy weather loomed over the college town.

* * *

On Friday, Anne emerged from her dull afternoon class in her introspective haze; she hadn't truly interacted with anyone since she returned from Avonlea—even Roy, whose vain attempts to see her she had brushed off.

But as she glanced at her phone now, another message from Roy popped up.

_"_ _Please Anne, let's talk tonight."_

Her heart finally succumbed, and she responded.

_"_ _Okay, let me know when and where works for you."_

Slipping the phone into her bag, she descended the steps of the building with a nervous sigh.

A cool wetness grazed her nose, and she glanced up to see heavy, dusky clouds threatening a downpour.

"Great," she whispered to herself. "Another day of weather tailor-made for me."

Anne began to jog slightly as she headed toward Patty's Place, praying she would reach home before she got completely soaked.

But it wasn't to be.

Just as she rushed past the library, the clouds broke, dumping their torrent on Anne, armed only with a thin raincoat.

"Only three more blocks," Anne thought desperately, her eyes cast downward while the frigid water seeped to her skin.

Absorbed in this particularly motivated journey, Anne almost missed the sound of feet jogging along beside her and the sudden absence of rain in her small radius.

In confusion, Anne lifted her face to thank her savior.

Walking steadily beside her was Gilbert Blythe, holding a deep green umbrella and staring straight ahead.

He offered her neither his words nor his glance, and Anne, aware of her precarious position with Gil, followed his example.

Her own thoughts echoed in her mind.

_He would be better off without you._

Anne flushed crimson with remorse, and the pair walked silently onward, Gil remembering exactly the quickest paths and turns to reach Patty's Place.

Three blocks quickly evaporated, and soon, Gil unlatched the dusty white gate and Anne started down the walkway to the front door.

Just a few steps from the old house's small porch, Anne quickly turned and blocked Gil's path forward, forcing his eyes on her.

"Thank you, Gil," Anne started quietly. "For saving me."

Gil appraised her for a few moments, his eyes lingering with some masked heat on her flushed cheeks and loosened damp hair.

"Not the first time," Gil said mirthlessly. "But you really should've thought ahead and brought your umbrella. It's no secret that it's been raining all week."

His admonishment caused Anne to twist her hands embarrassedly and step slightly backward out of the umbrella's shelter.

"I lost it," Anne whispered. "My umbrella, that is."

Gil's eyes softened slightly, and he shifted toward her, causing the umbrella to shield her fully once more.

"Then I'm glad to be of service," he murmured, apologetically.

Gil's familiar earthy scent amplified in the humid air, and Anne nearly forgot a world existed outside the dry haven under the green umbrella.

Gil's mouth opened as if to speak but closed again promptly as his eyes searched Anne's face.

The rain began falling even more rapidly, and raindrop-loosened leaves and petals showered the couple as well.

"Anne," Gil finally spoke, finding confidence with the storm. "Have you thought about it all?"

His words surprised Anne, and she breathed in a shuddering gasp of wet air.

"I have," she said softly, enamored by the spark that flashed in Gil's eyes. "But I don't know quite…."

Her words floated to the petal-covered walkway, and Gil shook his head slightly.

"Well, I've waited enough, and I'm not sure…. " he strained, his voice choked and his eyes aching. "But you know, happy to save you once more, but I've got to get home."

He stepped forward, his hand clasping her forearm.

Anne breathed in anticipation and her eyelids lazily dropped.

But Gil gently turned her forward and pulled her to the safety of the covered porch.

"Goodbye, Anne," he said, before stepping away and quickly down the cobbled path.

Anne watched his retreat regretfully before apprehensively checking her phone.

_"_ _I'll pick you up at 6."_

Anne sighed and stepped inside.


	12. Chapter 12

Phil, you've really got to stop theorizing," Anne said pointedly as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "I'm going out with Roy tonight so we can work through some…issues we've been having. I am not going to break up with him. I am not going to dash across town to Gilbert Blythe, of all people. And I'm certainly not going to throw away everything I've always wanted at the eleventh hour!"

"Oh, please, Anne Shirley," Phil sassed, rolling her eyes and flipping a grilled cheese on the stove. "I don't give a rat's left toe what you _say_ is or isn't going to happen. I found you sobbing on the floor with freaking mud from Stella's gardening shoes caked all on your face this past Sunday, and I am in no mood—no mood, you hear—to listen to you prattle on so maturely and confidently."

Anne leaned against the knotted wooden counter and cupped her porcelain mug with both hands. Roy would be arriving in 15 minutes to pick her up, and she needed all the strength—caffeinated or otherwise—she could muster for this evening's outing.

"Well, to be frank, Phil, you don't have to be in a mood to hear me talk because I'm hardly in a mood to talk myself," Anne sighed, then took a sip of too-hot coffee. "I feel as if all I do is talk."

"Did you do any talking with Gil this past weekend," Phil inquired, falsely innocent. "Or did you do some _not talking_ with him perhaps?"

"Philippa Gordon!" Anne yelled, slamming her mug forcefully on the counter. "You will not say such things to me."

Wide-eyed, Phil turned to look at this strange Anne, who was so unlike the kind friend she knew so well.

"You will not say such things to me," Anne repeated quietly, seeing the surprise burned on Phil's face. "I have Roy, and Gil has… well, he has Christine, and despite what everyone else thinks or wants, I'm not in the business of destroying two relationships for the possibility of one. And as for you, I have been there through your pendulum of a love life, and I have passed no judgements. No snide remarks. No baiting. Nothing. And here I am, clearly distressed. Clearly unsure. Clearly trying to make the right choice. And all you do is flip your grilled cheese and your perfect hair and try to make me second guess myself."

Outside, large raindrops drummed on the window panes, and heavy gusts whistled past the cozy house, but out of all the ambient noises, Anne's words hung the loudest inside the warmly-lit kitchen.

"And I know you have your own opinions on my romantic entanglements," Anne continued, her composure wilting under the week's compounded stress. "But I implore you, Phil, please just let me be. Just for tonight. I hardly know my own mind."

Anne's knees began to waver, and she felt her eyes prickle.

Phil smoothly switched off the burner and slid over to her fragile friend, enveloping her in an embrace.

"Please forgive me, honey," Phil cried, her voice gentle. "You're so right: I have no place to criticize a single romantic decision you make! Everyone knows what I was like when I was on the market; I couldn't even make a decision! Let alone a sensible, thoughtful one like yourself."

Anne knit her eyebrows together and smiled stiffly at her friend.

"Thanks, Phil," Anne said softly, picking up her coffee again. "I apologize for raising my voice. I know you didn't mean anything, but I've just been so conflicted over this whole issue."

"No! Don't apologize for anything!" Phil said, squeezing Anne's shoulder and returning to the stove. "I should learn to shut my mouth more anyway. Maybe if I was always eating, I wouldn't talk so much?"

Anne smiled as her friend bit into her grilled cheese, but a flash of light in the window distracted her.

Roy was here.

* * *

Anne remembered the details of her first car ride with Matthew down to every freckle and wrinkle. She remembered her nervousness and excitement. She remembered every word Matthew said—which wasn't that impressive considering she almost completely dominated the conversation. She remembered the quiet radio station softly crooning the classic tracks Matthew adored.

But what she remembered most at this very moment, as her uneasy, silent car ride with Roy Gardener dragged on, was the beautiful silence that fell over Matthew and herself as she took in her first, overwhelming glimpses of Green Gables.

Anne cherished those easy silences with Matthew in her memory, and now that she really considered it, she realized she had never shared a comfortable silence with Roy.

Not once.

And this silence was, by far, the most uncomfortable of all.

Roy had no music playing. The car's engine was too well oiled and cared for to be heard. Even the rain, which Anne had dashed to car through uncovered, hit the thick glass noiselessly.

She could feel the occasional heat of Roy's glance on her face, but she patently ignored him.

Roy twisted through the damp, glittering city streets, and though he didn't name their destination, Anne knew where he was taking her.

So when Roy pulled into the entry way of the public park, where a little pavilion sat on the harbor's edge, Anne's heart began to beat fiercely—fueled by both panic and caffeine.

"Maybe that coffee was the worst idea I've ever had," Anne thought to herself. "But I don't want to call that race before this evening's officially over."

Roy parked swiftly and hopped out of the car, but Anne froze in place. Vaguely, she heard Roy open the trunk and a few seconds later, a gust of cold, wet air whipped the side of her face.

"Anne?"

She upturned her stormy eyes and saw Roy, outlined by his dark, funeral-esque umbrella, with all the hope in the world glowing on his face.

"Are you ready?"

* * *

As silent as their car ride was, Anne and Roy's slog to the harbor pavilion was somehow quieter; Roy's hand gripped whitely around the curved umbrella handle, and Anne clenched her arms around herself.

The rain angled slightly with the wind off the bay, and a frigid wetness crept up Anne's legs.

As the pair ducked under the deserted pavilion, Anne realized her heart rate still hadn't decreased when Roy sheathed the umbrella and turned to face her.

"Anne, do you remember when we first met?" Roy asked softly, leaning on the umbrella slightly. "In this very same place? In quite the same weather? Then, I offered you the shelter of my umbrella—an umbrella very much like this one, but not the same one, of course. I offered merely out of politeness because I noticed a gust of wind had blown your umbrella inside out, but do you know what happened, Anne, when I first saw you?"

"I don't, Roy," Anne whispered, barely hearing her own voice above the thumping of her heart.

"I knew, in that moment, that I was going to marry you, Anne Shirley," Roy continued, stepping toward her and his words beginning to tumble quickly and uncharacteristically. "And since that moment, I have believed that. Even when you were put out with me. Even when I was put out with you. Even… last weekend. Because I knew I would marry you, I always knew we could work through anything!"

Anne felt her heart constrict violently at his impassioned words, and all her inner strength disintegrated in a flash.

"I love you, Anne Shirley," Roy continued, grasping Anne's hand desperately. "And these recent events have only proved how much I love you and how miserable I am when I am unsure of you.

So I would like to be sure of you."

In a few stricken moments, Anne watched as Roy let the umbrella and one of his knees drop to the ground. He pulled out a small, black box and glanced upward at Anne.

"Roy, I—" Anne gasped, her breaths shallow and icy.

"Anne, please," Roy interrupted, opening the box purposefully. "Please, let me ask this. Let me ask you to marry me. Let me be sure of you. Let me be the only one. Whatever happened this past weekend, I will never think of it again on the condition of one word from you. Just say that one word, Anne, and that's all I'll ever need."

* * *

When Anne thought back on this rather unfortunate event in her life, she only recalled a select, few things.

The feeling of the bitter, sharp winds off the harbor.

The gloomy lights reflected in the dull asphalt of the pavilion.

The singular sight of watching a man's expression break from wild hope to utter despair.

Her memory preserved these three impressions in a painful, but brief blur, but in the actual moment, the pain festered and time lingered.

Roy asked of her a single word, but she gave him the wrong one, and Anne felt as if she saw his heart break in a single syllable.

She could hardly say why she chose the answer she did, except for an explicit sense of sudden clarity at his words. Somewhere in herself, Anne knew what she needed, and though she could hardly vocalize that knowledge, a simple "no" was the first word she knew she should say.

Over the hum of waves and rain, Anne heard the distinct sound of the ring box's closing snap, and as if in a trance, she fuzzily watched Roy reach for the umbrella and rise up. He paced away toward the edge of the harbor, but Anne kept her eyes fixed on the ground before her as her heart beat stilled.

A few minutes later, Roy returned to Anne's side, and she heard him ramble about a ride back to Patty's Place.

She heard her own voice decline his offer as gracefully as the situation allowed—which was to say not very gracefully at all.

Her trance lasted a few more moments as Roy talked of rain and sickness and finals and—

"You didn't bring your umbrella, Anne. You can't walk back without it."

"My umbrella," Anne repeated, surfacing from her foggy mind.

"Yes, I can't let you walk back without an umbrella, at least," Roy continued, his voice as strained and falsely-polite as to any stranger. "Here just take mine, and I'll leave you be. I can't be here—"

"I can't, Roy," Anne interrupted, her heart beating with fresh purpose. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"And I, as well," Roy offered, giving her one last, entreating glance.

"I'm sorry," Anne repeated, and began walking away.

From Roy.

From this terrible evening.

From all this confusion.

To something else.

To the place where, oddly, she knew her umbrella would be.


	13. Chapter 13

Warm lamplight reflected in the oil-slick street outside the old apartment building, and Anne's gaze traced the solitary light's source to the third window from the right in the middle of the complex.

The bright window beckoned her forward, but Anne paused.

She had sprinted from the park to her destination in a matter of minutes, but her giddy excitement rapidly sublimated into reticence as reality set in.

"Should I really be here?" Anne asked herself. "How do I even begin?"

Her mind overran with information and questions and statements, and a nagging thought rematerialized, unwanted.

_Are you good for him?_

Anne recalled her muddled relationship with Gil.

They had been enemies.

And that ended.

They had been friends.

And that ended, as well.

They had been estranged.

And that ended—even if only for a brief, spring weekend.

Every incarnation of their relationship seemed predestined to expire, and Anne couldn't risk hurting him again.

Or watching his face blanch with pain and loss.

Or ostensibly, stingingly ignoring him at social events.

Or arguing with him in the shadows of the Lane.

She couldn't, could she?

A vibration buzzed against her thigh, and Anne drew her phone from her pocket.

 _What happened? what did Roy say? when are you coming back?_ Phil at 8:30.

Anne sighed and took an ensuring glance at the gleaming window before texting Phil back.

 _I'll tell you about it when I get home and I'll be home in few minutes._ Anne replied quickly.

 _Are you still out with Roy?_ Phil texted almost as fast as Anne answered.

 _No._ Anne texted, her fingers moving with swift finality.

Anne returned her gaze to the window, and her mind rushed back into motion.

"How should I do this?" Anne murmured to herself. "Do I just buzz his apartment? What do I even say? 'Hi, Gil, this is Anne; I know I've broken your heart multiple times, and when we talked earlier, I gave you no indication that I wouldn't break it again, but I just turned down Roy's proposal and need to confess something to you?'"

A shadow crossed in the window, startling Anne from her hypothetical reverie. She needed to act now—before she lost her nerve.

She couldn't just buzz his apartment or throw pebbles at his window, so Anne stood in the breezy, drizzling night shifting from one foot to the other. Her brain whirred with different options and scenarios, and her adrenaline began fading quickly, and her practical sensibility crept over her.

Just then, a miracle occurred.

A miracle in the form of Moody Spurgeon McPherson—who happened to live in the same, ancient, cheap apartment complex as Gil.

In all her life, Anne was never more elated to spot Moody's distinctive, efficient gate as he rounded the corner of the building. She spun into action, recklessly sprinting across the fortunately-deserted street.

"Moody!" Anne called, waving her hand at her old, schoolyard friend.

"Oh, hullo, Anne!" Moody replied, startled by the sight of his red-headed friend dashing across the road. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was just taking a walk," Anne answered, her words fast and frantic.

"A walk? Anne, it's pouring outside," Moody laughed, holding his black umbrella out and beckoning her under. "Where's your umbrella?"

"Well, actually," Anne began, a spontaneous plan clicking into place. "I left my umbrella in your apartment building a few weeks ago—I had to talk to Gil about some last minute maid-of-honor-and-best-man business for Di's wedding—and I was just out walking when the ran started to pour, and I remembered I had left it here. I was about to ring Gil, but then, you walked by! Would you mind horribly letting me in?"

"Of course, Anne!" Moody smiled, pulling out his key and guiding Anne toward the door. "It's very fortunate I happened to be here! I'd hate for you to catch pneumonia from being so damp and cold out here."

"Thank you, Moody," Anne said gratefully. "How has your semester been? I feel as if I hardly see you—even at Di's wedding, I wasn't able to say more than two words to you!"

"Oh, my semester's been busy, of course," Moody answered, opening the apartment complex's door and shaking his umbrella out. "Everyone from Avonlea's been busy though. I live in the same building as Gil, and I think I've seen him maybe twice! It certainly makes me miss those good, old school days, but I suppose we all must move on in life. I'm just happy I got to spend my college years with a few of our old friends."

Anne smiled nostalgically at Moody, who gave her a wistful, crooked grin in return. The pair stepped into the apartment's lobby and turned to the utilitarian umbrella rack on the water-stained concrete floor, which held Anne's striped, yellow umbrella.

"I suppose I can figure which umbrella is yours," Moody joked, drawing the bright umbrella from the rack and handing it to his friend. "It's very Anne, Anne."

"Thank you," Anne began, taking the umbrella. "For everything. You don't know how grateful I am, truly."

"Anytime, Anne," Moody replied, taking a few steps backward. "We've got to catch up soon! But I've got to go cram for my apologetics test tomorrow—I haven't studied a lick yet—so I'll see you another time. Don't catch your death out there!"

"I won't!" Anne called at Moody as his retreating form turned down a hallway branching from the lobby.

She breathed heavily, leaning on her umbrella for strength.

If Moody Spurgeon MacPherson—late for studying for his apologetics exam but just in time for the last of Anne's adrenaline-induced courage—wasn't a sign, Anne wasn't sure what else could be.

She had to do this.

She was supposed to do this.

But….

_Are you good for him?_

Once again, the thought stole into her mind unbidden, and Anne felt her resolution falter.

But she shook her dripping, auburn curls and inhaled deeply. With her chin held high, Anne moved purposefully to the staircase and flew up the flights to Gil's floor.

She strode down the hall, and just like the week before, Anne stood in front of Gil's chipped wooden door and on the edge of something radical.

And she knocked.

* * *

Breathless seconds stretched on for what felt like hours until Anne heard a quiet rustle and the sound of soft steps. The clicks of a doorknob unlocking vibrated in her rapidly-beating heart, and then, Anne heard the squeak of rusty hinges.

Her body froze as Gil appeared before her, outlined in the same warm lamplight that had beckoned her from the street below. His face registered shock, and Anne realized what a sight she must be. The rain had certainly taken its toll: her clothes clung damply to her body, and her hair fell in soaked clumps around her presumably mascara-streamed face.

"Oh, I didn't think this through nearly well enough," Anne thought to herself. "He looks nearly terrified to see me."

Just then, Gil cleared his throat, and Anne realized her cue: she was the one who called on him, after all.

"Moody let me in," she sputtered, mechanically lifting her yellow umbrella as evidence. "I remembered I left this here last week when I was out tonight in the rain, and I thought I'd pick it up so I wouldn't get pneumonia, and Moody happened to be going in, and he let me in, and then, I thought I'd come up and say hello, and I've said it—actually, hello, Gil—there, now, I've said it, and I do realize I must look a fright so I guess I'll be going if you're too busy…."

Anne began to back away in a panic, and she saw Gil open the door slightly wider, a similar look of panic in his own hazel eyes.

"Anne, please, do you want to come in?"

Anne let out a breath and smiled warmly.

"Of course."

Gil swung the door fully open, and Anne stepped into the room she knew so well. Looking around, she remembered those study sessions years ago, and she thought of how very little the room had changed.

The scuffed, unvarnished dinner table stacked high with textbooks and notes.

The dingy white walls plastered with band posters and photos of his family.

The plaid forest green curtains his mother had certainly sent him hanging on either side of the window.

Her gaze landed on Gil, whose expression also momentarily appeared unchanged from those long ago days.

When he realized her gaze had lighted on his, he schooled his features into passivity, and though Anne rued his ability to guard his emotions, she found his neutral air spurred her clarity of thought.

"I suppose I came here for more than just a simple hello," Anne began, leaning against the table stiffly. "And I wasn't just out tonight for the fun of a simple walk, either. But before I tell you anymore, you've got to promise to let me get out everything I need to say before you say anything, okay?"

Gil nodded almost imperceptibly, and Anne began to pace about the small room, her fingers grazing objects of interest nervously.

"I was out tonight because Roy proposed to me," Anne started, throwing a glance at Gil, whose face flushed crimson. "He took me to the pavilion where we first met, and he asked me to marry him, and I found that I just couldn't say yes. He was asking out of desperation, really. You might not have realized, but he was concerned by my interactions with you at Di's wedding. In the middle of the reception, he pulled me aside and asked me—in his own way, of course—if there was anything between us, still. And Gil, on my long drive back from Avonlea with him, he seemed to know… what _happened…_ between us. Without any indication from me at all. He was insecure and unsure of me, and for some reason, that drove him to propose. I suppose he was planning on it anyway, but it felt haphazard—something Roy rarely is. But when the time came, I couldn't say yes, and Roy left, and I found myself walking here. Not home. Here."

Anne had wandered toward the window, but she barely glanced out its pane before turning to face Gil. Her eyes connected with his, and she watched his tightly controlled expression melt gradually.

"I was drawn here by some force—probably whatever force has always drawn us together—and I stood outside in the rain wondering if this was a good idea at all, if I was good for you. And then, just as I'd convinced myself to leave you alone, Moody waltzed around the corner, and I knew. So here I am, Gil, ready to apologize to you every day for how I've treated you this past decade. Ready to guarantee I won't abandon ship on our relationship again. Ready to try to be good for you, finally. Ready to tell you something I never wanted to say to Roy, something I only said because I felt I had to."

Anne paused, and Gil wavered slightly forward, his mouth slightly open in anticipation.

"What's that?" He asked softly, the old expression blooming across his face.

Anne smiled faintly and clasped her trembling hands behind her back.

"That I love you, Gilbert Blythe."


	14. Chapter 14

Whenever she felt gloomy, Anne Shirley often thought back to the day when Matthew shuffled into the Green Gables kitchen carrying a brown paper bag stamped all over with a department store logo.

Her beloved Matthew had knelt beside her seat at the kitchen table and handed her the crinkly parcel.

Then, her memory would bloom with golden warmth as her past self deftly unwrapped the gift: a beautiful dress.

Her first beautiful dress.

Her first beautiful thing at all.

She could still feel the smooth, chestnut fabric in her hands and hear Matthew's soft chuckle at her delirious happiness as she threw her arms around him with effusions of thanks and tears.

She had been sitting there so sadly—though she could hardly remember why—but when Matthew had gifted her that dress, her entire world seemed bright and lovely and worthwhile again.

It was as if he had handed her a new world in that brown paper package, and she still fed off the happiness of that memory.

She still thought of it when she was sad.

And, sometimes, she thought of it even when she wasn't sad.

And as she stood in Gilbert Blythe's tiny, musty apartment, she couldn't help but remember her moment with Matthew in the kitchen because it felt so much like the moment she wavered in now.

She had sputtered out her incoherent declaration of love to a man whose heart she'd broken several times before, and she stood staring across the tiny living room at Gil, praying she hadn't made one more mistake concerning him.

Praying she had finally given him what he wanted and deserved.

Praying she could finally rest from her constant, internal war to repress that nagging, decade-old feeling.

And to her delight, Gil brightened at her confession like she had on that faraway day in the Green Gables kitchen.

Like her own stammered words were wrapped in a brown, department store bag.

Like her newly realized love was the first beautiful gift Gilbert Blythe had ever received.

Like he couldn't even remember what he had ever been sad about in the first place.

She returned his beaming grin with a shy smile of her own, and by some unseen magnetism, the pair drew closer together from their polar positions in the small apartment.

Anne rounded the fraying armrest of the couch as she felt Gil's steady hands skim over her wrist and gently rest on her forearms.

Instinctively, her palms flipped and grasped his forearms as well, and the pair stood as close as their apprehensive bliss allowed.

Anne tilted her freckled face up and gazed at Gil with all the love she had repressed for so long; his thumbs grazed lightly over her pale skin as he returned her gaze, and Anne swore she could've lived in this perfect instant for the rest of her life.

But she knew they hadn't quite reached the finish line yet. There was still so much to consider and discuss and question and answer, and Anne felt a million thoughts drown her simplistic happiness.

"So," Anne began, the stillness of the apartment making her voice seem harsh and loud. "I suppose we still have a lot to work out between us."

"Yes," Gil answered softly, his brow crinkling in amusement and thought.

"Well, I can't hardly think of where to begin," Anne continued, squeezing Gil's arms tighter and glancing down. "I've treated you so terribly for so long that I could spend the next ten years apologizing to you every minute."

She felt a sigh breeze through the frizzy curls of her drying hair, and then, Gil pulled her closer and pressed a comforting kiss to her forehead.

As the pair lingered together, Anne felt Gil's lips move against her brow.

"Anne," he whispered. "I don't need your apologies. You don't need to apologize ever."

"But I deserve to apologize," Anne rallied, her palms sliding over his arms and to his shoulders.

"I don't think so," Gil continued, his hands coming to rest on her waist. "I don't want you to apologize for anything. I've made mistakes against you just as you've made them against me, but now, we're even. Anything you've done, I can forgive if this is the result. And I know you'd say the same."

Gil's words settled into the atmosphere of the cozy apartment like another warm, glowing lamp; Anne felt their peace and reassurance in a nearly tangible sensation.

"You say that now, Gil," Anne whispered, after a few, calm moments passed. "But when you get angry at me some day—and some day soon, knowing my mouth—you'll be reminded of all the times I threw you under or hurt you!"

"Anne," Gil began.

"And now that I finally have you," Anne steamrolled on, ignoring Gil's cautioning tone. "I'd hate to lose you because of all the ridiculous, awful things I've done and surely will do again. I couldn't bear, Gil. And I don't understand how or why you're willing to breathe the same air as I am."

"Anne," Gil began again, his tone laced with finality. "Do you honestly know so little of me? I've waited for you for ten years. And I haven't just put up with your… antics. In some ways, I've enjoyed them. No other girl gave me the run for my money that you did. You are perfect for me. And I will never stop believing that."

"But," Anne started, her mind whirring with exceptions and uncertainties. "What about Christine? She may be perfect for you!"

"Christine?" Gil laughed. "What does she have to do with anything, Anne?"

Anne pulled away from Gil and moved toward the kitchen table where stacks of medical textbooks cluttered the surface. She aimlessly flicked through an open book's pages and concentrated on keeping her tone controlled.

"Well, you are—or were—dating her weren't you," Anne said lightly. "At least, that's what I gathered from our mutual acquaintances and the way you escorted her to every single event for the past year."

"Well, I'm glad Robert never talked to any of those mutual friends," Gil said, leaning against the back of the couch, crossing his arms, and flippantly tilting his head toward Anne.

"Who's Robert?" Anne asked, her tone forced.

"Christine's fiancé," Gil replied, mischievously.

"Oh, well, I hadn't heard about that," Anne murmured, feeling her indignation deflate.

"Not many people have," Gil continued, stepping toward Anne with peculiar expression on his face. "But I am simply friends with Christine, Anne. We got on well together, but I was never interested in her like that, and she was never interested in me either. She had a fiancé, for goodness' sake! And I, too, had someone else on my mind."

She felt her rationality fading as Gil approached her, and she gripped the edge of the table for support.

"You burst into my apartment late at night, tell me you've broken off with Roy, and confess that you love me, but then, you waver over insignificant details you think might affect our potential relationship," Gil said quietly, edging around the table to where Anne stood. "I think, for now, we should close the conversation on those unpleasant topics and refocus on whatever issue will make you say you love me again."

"Gil," Anne breathed, as he pulled her closely to him once more. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Anne," Gil replied, any tension melting from his body at the sweet exchange.

The couple remained contentedly huddled together until a sharp sound startled them into reality.

The high-pitched bells of Gil's phone chime reverberated in the tiny room, and Gil quickly pulled the phone from his pocket an answered it.

"Hello?"

"It's Phil," a muffled voice answered, though Anne could barely make out her words.

"Oh, Phil," Gil replied, his tone confused. "Are you okay? Do you need something?"

"Yes, I've tracked Anne's phone to your apartment complex," the muffled voice shouted. "And, though I've texted Anne about a thousand times, she hasn't answered me, and I really need to know the details."

"Oh," Gil stuttered. "She's here, and everything's fine."

"Fine?" Phil's voice said, and Anne could practically feel the sarcasm radiating from the airwaves. "What kind of fine?"

"Very fine, I would say," Gil smiled, his eyes searching Anne's for a similar endorsement.

Anne pulled the phone down.

"Very, very, very fine, Phil," Anne said, pulling Gil's wrist and the phone down to her mouth. "I'll tell you more when I get home."

"Oh, you're coming home, are you?" Phil retorted archly.

Both Gil and Anne flushed simultaneously, and Gil pulled the phone back to his level.

"She'll be back soon," Gil said firmly, though his other hand clenched Anne tighter. "I've just got a couple more things to discuss with her. But thank you for checking on her, Phil."

"Of course," Phil's voice rang out, matter-of-factly. "If I had known she was going to drop Roy tonight, I would've called you sooner and let you know you definitely still had a shot."

"Well, thank you, I suppose," Gil said, his smile beaming.

"Goodnight and good luck," Phil replied.

"Goodnight, Phil," both Anne and Gil answered in unison.

Gil ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He grabbed Anne with both his hands and drew her impossibly close to him.

"So what other things do you need to discuss with me," Anne questioned, quirking her eyebrow.

"Oh, just this and that," Gil answered, offhandedly, but his eyes lingered on her mouth.

"Nothing important, I assume," Anne prodded, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"It's very important actually," Gil replied, inching his face toward hers. "It's something I've been dying to do for a very long while."

And there, in the tiny main room of the tiny apartment, Gilbert Blythe kissed Anne Shirley for the second time in one week, and he felt like he'd just been handed all the happiness in the world.


	15. Chapter 15

True to his promise, Gilbert Blythe was soon escorting Anne Shirley back to Patty's Place. Though the rain had stopped, neither Gil nor Anne felt particularly inclined to leave the cozy comfort of Gil's apartment; his forest green couch felt awfully inviting, and the lamplight dulled Anne's alertness. But despite the attraction of staying entwined on Gil's couch, the pair managed to exit the building and wander down the street outside the ancient building. The musty smell of damp concrete filled the spring air as Gil and Anne meandered along the sidewalk of Redmond's residential quarter. The world was calm and silent in the late evening, but the pair—so absorbed in each other—would've hardly noticed if it had been rush hour on Black Friday.

As the elated, new couple ducked behind trees and corners for lingering embraces, Anne couldn't help but compare this walk with Gil to the one they'd shared earlier in the day. Such a great divide stood between the Anne of a few hours ago and the Anne of the present.

She had been so conflicted and distressed and exhausted and melancholic, and now, her heart almost burst with peaceful happiness—especially when Gil pulled her behind a cluster of birches and pressed kisses along her throat.

Anne had never felt so content in Roy's arms, and the way Gil's hands grasped her waist and shoulders made her feel secure in the best way. He felt as warm and familiar as a summer afternoon in Avonlea, and Anne cursed her stubborn blindness for the hundredth time that hour.

She couldn't help but imagine how much simpler and better her life would've been if she had just accepted Gil's offer the first time.

If she had just opened her eyes to Gil's longing glances during their second year at Redmond.

If she had just realized what that lingering feeling in her heart had been when she thought of Gil.

"Queen Anne," Gil's voice rumbled from the juncture of her neck and collarbone. "Where has that lovely mind of yours gone?"

"Oh, Gil," Anne began quietly. "I was just thinking how long it took for us to get here."

"Well, we've only been walking for about ten minutes," Gil said, pulling away from her neck but still holding her tightly. "And I doubt Phil is tracking us at the moment."

"You know what I meant," Anne laughed, her fingers combing out the curls at the nape of Gil's neck. "How long it took us to get to this point."

"Anne," Gil said, his voice drawing in near-exasperation. "I don't want you to think about that. I don't want you to blame yourself for anything! Because now that I'm here with you, I know I wouldn't have had our journey go any other way. We needed that time."

"Are you sure?" Anne whispered.

"Of course," Gil said, his hands cradling Anne's face reassuringly. "I just want you to believe that too."

"I will," Anne began. "I just can't believe how incredibly lucky I am to have you. You're so selfless and kind and loving and forgiving, and you've waited so long! What if I'm not all you've imagined me to be all these years?"

"Anne Shirley, I knew I'd lost my heart the moment you smashed that board over my head," Gil answered. "And if that doesn't explain everything about my expectations of being with you, I don't know what will!"

"I love you, Gilbert Blythe," Anne whispered in the calm night.

"I love you, too, Anne Shirley," Gil smiled, grasping her hand and pulling her back onto the sidewalk. "Come on now, we've got a long walk yet, and I suspect all your housemates be still be awake for some reason!"

And so the pair continued on toward their destination—with periodic stops for an occasional embrace—and Anne had never been so thankful for a broken-down car, a lost umbrella, and very long drive.


End file.
